Risky Business
by rayychel infinity
Summary: FOB/Moonlight AU: Pete is a vampire who falls for a human. Cliche, right? It's far from it. There's a dangerous renegade coven loose in Chicago that's hellbent on revenge, and time's running out for Pete to save his new love interest and friends.
1. Calm Your Nerves Now

**DISCLAIMER:** I, in no shape or form, own The Cab (title: Risky Business), Fall Out Boy, the idea of vampires, or any other Fueled By Ramen band mentioned herein. This is my second shot, as stated, at a vampire fic, since the first one completely flopped. The warnings for this story are: language, boylove, vampirism, violence (later on), and maybe some other things that may pop up. Reviews make me totally happy, and I'd appreciate if you'd let me know if this is a horrible, sad excuse for a story or a good one. And yes, I may have taken the general idea from the ex-CBS show, _Moonlight_, but that was an awesome show! This is sort of like paying homage, since they canceled it and all.

_----_

_When you think of vampires, what's the first thing that comes to mind? Is it dark alleys and sharp fangs, or is it insatiable hunger and that feeling that someone's always lurking behind you in the shadows on your walk home from work? Either way, vampires aren't all what they're cracked up to be. I should know. After all, I am one. You'd never know, though. I've been alive for a hundred years and trust me, there's more to the world than you think._

----

The morning sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the apartment, casting patterns on the modern chrome kitchen, winding metal staircase, and crystal gas fireplace. The über-sleek apartment seemed too full and yet too empty at the same time. It was decorated with the taste of a refined woman, and somehow still held onto the air of a bachelor.

A certain chill hugged the windows overlooking the sleepy Chicago skyline, telltale signs of the oncoming winter. Bird no longer twittered as the sun gave its first few meager rays, but if someone listened hard enough (which, in reality, wasn't very hard at all), there was a symphony of car horns far below in the streets as commuters made their way to work.

A door upstairs opened and out stumbled Pete Wentz, looking haggard and tired, his black hair skewed messily around his face. His skin was tan in color, although it had a paled look, like someone that had been locked inside for a long time. He had gotten enough Boo Radley jokes for his lifetime, truthfully. All he had on was sweatpants slung low on his jutting hips, showcasing a tattoo above his waistline.

Pete was a vampire hunter extraordinaire, a self-proclaimed savior for the modern generations. Despite his job occupation, he had a secret that he rarely ever told anyone: he was a vampire himself. He could swear sometimes that if you looked up _irony _in the dictionary, his name would be right next to it. Bill Beckett had also said, more than once, that if you looked up _arrogant_ and _asshole_, Pete's name would be there too.

Bill, someday, was going to _actually_ die, Pete swore on it.

Besides that, Pete was an average man to most people, and sometimes to himself if he stopped thinking long enough. He lived in his lavish apartment in the north side of Chicago, close to where he had grown up. He did his taxes and kept the neighborhood clean of vandals. The only thing he was missing, though, was someone to do it all _with_.

He knew that maybe he wasn't totally stable. Even as a little kid, Pete had struggled with depression and insomnia, and unfortunately a thing such as a turning didn't quell those feelings, instead making them, if possible, worse, since obviously vampires don't sleep.

It wasn't exactly as if he could go out onto the dating scene. There were regulations for his kind, and it got especially suspicious when one didn't age at all. Not that he wouldn't love to have a significant other; the human memories of past boyfriends stayed hazily in his mind, flitting in and out of his consciousness like bleary butterflies. He just never found another vampire that gave him that tug he had always hoped he would feel someday.

Rejection had been a foreign thing to him up until seventy-one years ago, when he was turned. Since then, he'd grown too used to being alone with only his own thoughts, and surprisingly, he wasn't crazy. Yet.

Some of his friends would say otherwise, but Pete held firm that he was nothing more than _eccentric_. He could probably describe himself in a dictionary full of words, but, like everything else in his life, it just didn't fit.

He had money; he knew that he'd never have to work again on the day he officially turned ninety. When he was turned, he'd decided to use his supernatural powers for good, so he'd become a private investigator. It wasn't always vampires that he killed, but humans who deserved to feel the cold bite of death.

Pete wasn't a killer, in terms of vampire or human. He solved mystery cases, cold cases, brought back home missing children, stopped bank robberies. There was only the exception with the men or women who did what they did and got a thrill out of it. The ones who never stopped, even after being caught two, three times. _They_ were the ones Pete sought out and always caught for good.

After having been alive for a hundred years, the world started to lose its shine. Nothing in the news surprised Pete, since he had seen it coming for years now. With the way that the world had changed since the early twentieth century, he had no doubts that civilization's failure to understand the importance of certain natural resources that were in no way indefinite would be their downfall.

He stretched, opening his mouth wide to reveal just the tiniest hint of fang that hadn't yet retracted due to his morning thirst. They weren't extraordinarily long, per se, but a glimpse of them was almost always enough to send a human running, horrible images of _Dracula_ dancing in their heads. They were also easily hid, though, so that he could talk freely without anyone suspecting. Disguise was a vampire's greatest friend.

The sun didn't bother him too much. He couldn't go out in it for too long, especially if it was hot, but he didn't burst into ashes or anything when he did. He wasn't too fond of it, anyway.

It wasn't just his vampire side that liked the dark; he had always been like that, ever since he was a little kid. The night just held a certain kind of sereneness, something that wasn't attainable during the day. It made him feel safe, even when he wasn't, like he was being wrapped in a thick velvet blanket.

When Pete slept, it was in a bed. There were no stupid clichés about coffins or closed spaces. He was a tiny bit claustrophobic, so he was more than glad that nothing like that was necessary.

Common knowledge was that vampires didn't sleep, which they didn't. They had no pulse, no way to get tired or feel like they were. But they did, however, need to replenish their strength when they went long periods without drinking, which was something Pete did often.

His strict moral standards were that he would _never_ kill a human for food, no matter how bad it got. And living in Chicago, it was hard to find any wild animals to kill. So, he befriended the local mortician, who in turn gave him bags of donated blood to quench his thirst. It also helped that said mortician was also a vampire.

The kitchen was only a few seconds walk from the living room, but on this chilly November morning, that short walk felt like a mile. Pete closed his eyes and groaned before walking into the kitchen, going to the cabinets where tall glasses of all shapes and sizes were lined. Pushing a few of them aside, he opened a secret door, pulling out a pitcher of blood. He poured some into a tumbler and closed the door again.

There had to be a way to hide the blood he drank on a daily basis, although the disguise wasn't completely necessary. Humans didn't drop by too often, so being found out wasn't really a big issue. Tipping the glass back, Pete savored the flow of sweet blood down his throat.

He set the half-empty glass down, swallowing and relishing the taste that swirled around his taste buds and quenched that burning hunger inside him in a way only blood could. Food was a thing of the long-ago past. He could barely remember a time when he wasn't dependent on animal or human blood to keep him sane.

It was at that moment that his phone in the kitchen decided to ring, snapping him out of his reverie, and Pete glanced at the caller ID before answering.

"Hey, Bill," he said brightly, stripping off his boxers as he walked into his room. Bill normally called his cell phone, so Pete figured that he had left his iPhone off overnight. Walking upstairs into his room, he went and checked, finding out that he had indeed turned it off. He opened his closet and began rummaging through clothes as Bill talked.

"Hey, Pete." Bill Beckett's voice was as bright as Pete's, if not more, and Pete knew that Bill and Adam Siska were doing just fine. He felt a pang of nostalgia as he slipped a shirt over his head and struggled with jeans that were two sizes too small.

He hadn't had a relationship since Mikey had run off with Frank, and that was the late seventies, if not earlier. It wouldn't have worked out anyway, because eventually Mikey would have caught on that Pete didn't age a day over twenty-nine. He'd like to think that it would have, though. Keep a sliver of hope that maybe he wasn't so impossible at all.

"To what do I owe this early-morning call?" Pete asked after dressing, walking over to the window in his room that overlooked the city.

Bill laughed. "Remember how I told you that Adam worked at that news website, Buzzwire?"

Pete rolled his eyes. Of course he had heard about Adam's work. By now, he couldn't decipher what he had learned about him and what he hadn't. He was half-tempted to yell at Bill to shut up, tell him that he didn't _care _about his boyfriend and what the hell he did. "Yeah," he replied instead. Just because _he _was bitter didn't mean everyone else had to be.

"Well," Bill interrupted Pete's thoughts. "He met this kid, you know, real young and shit, says he's straight out of college. Anyway, this kid is a real genius. He writes and reports for Buzzwire, and he even writes music in his spare time. Adam's read some of his stuff, and I'm telling you, Pete, you've _got _to meet him."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'd even want to meet him in the first place?"

"Because you never shut up about how much you want a boyfriend, so don't feed me lies."

Bill's voice was so deadpan that Pete had to laugh. "I guess you're right," he replied. "When should I meet this wonder boy?"

Bill paused. "Come in tonight? The place is always still somewhat busy then," he mused. Typical cover; a busy place means more distraction, meaning less eyes on the both of them. Pete wasn't dumb to the fact that they both gave off this aura of superiority, even if they looked completely human from the outside.

More often than not he turned heads when he walked into the room, whether it was his eternal beauty or how he held himself with the confidence that you only see in people who have done it all and seen it all. Pete had to give in on Bill's offer, so he smiled and pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he zipped up the hoodie he had thrown on.

"Sounds good."

----

Pete strolled into the office not too long after seven. Looking around, he noticed that, for almost after hours, it was, like Bill had said, somewhat busy. He weaved his way through a spider web of cubicles until he heard a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned, lopsided grin on his mouth, as he caught an armful of a skinny Bill Beckett, flashing almost out of nowhere, a blur of bony limbs and brown, curly hair. "You were right," Pete said as a way of greeting.

Bill raised an eyebrow, unfolding himself from Pete's smaller frame. Pete continued, "This place is way too busy for this time of night."

Bill laughed. "I know, right?" He placed his hand on Pete's shoulder as they walked. "Just down here," he muttered, turning left before stopping where a boy, who hardly fit the description of twenty-four, with thinning red-blond hair was sitting hunched over paperwork, a flat-screen Dell across from him, files open to a few crime scene photos. Bill cleared his throat and the kid jumped.

"Oh, i-it's you," the boy said, cheeks flushed. Pete told himself that that blush was _not _endearing in anyway and found the wall to be rather interesting as Bill introduced him to the boy. Pete just barely caught the kid's confused reply of, "But I know who you are, Bill," and Bill's exasperated, "Not _me, _Patrick, _him._"

Pete looked over, noticing Kid-Called-Patrick's blue-green eyes on him. A sudden feeling of nervousness washed over him and he looked down, self-consciously running his tongue over his now-concealed canines. He recognized this kid, although he wasn't sure how or why.

"So you're Pete," Patrick finally said. Pete, still uncomfortable under Patrick's heated gaze, nodded.

"What do you do for a living?" Patrick asked, tapping his pencil on the wood top of his desk. Pete could tell from the way that he asked the question that he had a slightly condescending air about him, something that just didn't seem right on someone so cherubic. But Patrick didn't seem to mind being either malevolent or putting people on the spot.

"Uhh." Pete stalled, trying to think of a quick way to avoid saying what he _really _did. "I-I write, I guess." Patrick raised a blond eyebrow, almost like he knew Pete was lying. Instead, all he said was, "Oh, really? What do you write?"

_Shit. _"Oh, poetry. You know, lyrics and whatever." Not exactly a lie; he _did_ write poetry, if his late-night ramblings could even be called that. Just not for a living.

Patrick looked at him intensely, still tapping his pencil. "Uh-huh. Are you in a band, Pete?" There was something about the way he said Pete's name; it still kept that condescending air, and now it sounded mocking as well.

But this boy with the pale looks of an innocent angel just didn't fit the description of rude. _I don't even know his last name_, Pete thought, and then said, "No, I'm not. Writing just releases emotion, you know?" He hoped to God that he was a convincing liar, because inside his head this was an act worthy of a bad B-movie. Not to mention that what he was saying sounded completely unbelievable and most definitely thought up on the spot.

He was unaware that he was twisting the end of his hoodie into an unrecognizable mess with his hands until Bill nudged his shoulder. Pete looked down and felt the strong urge to blush, although the blood in his veins didn't pump anywhere. He released the material.

Patrick nodded; oblivious to Pete's nervous fidgeting. "Emotion. I get it. You're an angst writer, huh?" His lips quirked in a know-all grin, like he was daring for Pete to call him out on what he just said.

Really, Pete knew way better than to let comments like that get to him. He'd gotten them all through school and all through his life up to now, especially by those who knew him for who he really was. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared haughtily at Patrick. "Like you could write any better, being stuffed inside this cubicle all day," he snapped.

Patrick leered at him. "That's just the thing. I'm stuffed inside this cubicle all day with nothing else to do."

"What about this thing you've got called a job?"

"Have you noticed that this basically _is_ my job?"

"Yeah, well. Fu—"

Bill stepped in before it could get any worse. "Maybe we should go, Pete," he said tersely. His eyes shifted back and forth, almost like he was expecting one of them to attack. _Or me, _Pete thought glumly. That's how people saw him; a vicious, evil monster. Even Bill, who knew better, still looked at him sideways whenever his temper flared up. After all these years Pete just... _gave up _and tried to ignore the people around him.

Instead, something lit up inside him, a forgotten bubble that held some sort of truth. _That voice._ Pete had _definitely_ caught a few of Patrick's reports, but he'd never actually _seen_ the kid. He recognized Patrick's voice from quiet mornings when he'd actually gotten around to opening up Buzzwire's site and listening to reports.

"I've seen you before," Pete said before he could stop himself. Patrick gave him a quizzical look that quickly morphed into one of disgust.

"Yeah, and that's not creepy at all," Patrick replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pete shook his head. God, did he need to spell it out? "No, I mean on the internet. On Buzzwire. I've seen a few of your stories." Well, it was okay to lie a little bit. He'd heard him. Close enough.

Patrick's face slowly softened. "Yeah… Still. You shouldn't be so pedo-ish when you meet new people."

A laugh bubbled up in Pete's throat, but he held it back. There was still something mysterious about this whole situation, and back in the recesses of his mind he remembered a time, nineteen years ago, when he'd rescued a little boy from his ex-boyfriend, Mikey Way.

Mikey wasn't the one who turned him, no. That was probably the only thing he didn't hate him for. But Pete would never forgive him for kidnapping the kid—who, he almost refused to admit, very possibly could be Patrick—and then running off with Frank Iero. Worse yet, though, was that Mikey had still been _human_ at the time.

"Hey. Hey. Pete." Fingers snapping in front of his face woke him out of his thoughts. When he opened his eyes, Patrick's blue-green ones were centimeters from his. He blinked in surprise.

"Uh. Hey," he said stupidly. The motors in his head appeared to have stopped working, to his embarrassment.

Patrick stared at him. "Are you okay?" he asked with the concern one usually saves for someone in the mental hospital. Pete managed a nod.

"Yeah. I was just… you remind me of someone."

Patrick furrowed his brow and was silent for a few seconds. "Now that you say it, you kind of _do_ look like someone. Have we met before?"

_Yes_, Pete wanted to say, but all he said was, "Nope."

"Bookstore."

"Nope."

"I've got it. A crime scene."

Pete smiled and again said no. "Maybe I've just got one of those faces."

Patrick didn't seem happy with the answer, but he let it slide. "Maybe," he muttered. He turned back to his computer just as Bill tapped Pete on the back and said, "We need to go," quietly into his ear.

Before he had a chance to say goodbye, Bill was whisking Pete away, not stopping until they were outside the building. Bill faced him, hands on his hips and a fire in his eyes.

"What the hell was that about?" he hissed, voice dangerously low.

"What, Patrick?" Pete asked. Bill nodded stiffly. Pete narrowed his eyes. "Jesus, chill. He just looks so familiar. Like someone I've met before but forgot."

A low snarl built in the back of Bill's throat, and for a second Pete was taken aback at his friend's display of anger. "Don't get attached," Bill growled.

Shocked, Pete didn't even get to edge a word in before Bill was gone and he was left standing alone in a parking lot, a head full of unanswered questions and the nagging feeling that Patrick was somehow a missing piece in his life.

----

R&R? It's much appreciated. :)


	2. I'm A Stitch Away From Making It

**DISCLAIMER: **See first chapter for full disclaimer. I own almost nothing in this story, except for a few things. Pure work of slashy fiction. Warnings: slash, language, vampirism, violence (there's some threats this chapter, but nothing big; that stuff is still later on). Don't read if you don't like any of the warnings. Read and review, please.

----

Pete couldn't remember the last time he'd had someone on his mind this long. Since the day he met Patrick, he couldn't get the boy's face out of his mind. He knew that he shouldn't feel this way for a human, but there were some things that just couldn't be changed.

No one was ever forward with him without worrying about how he'd react or, worse yet, thinking that they'd end up as his food. Pete promised again and again that he wasn't like that, but some people were just hard to convince.

There were some slightly suspicious things Patrick had said, like how he had seemed to see through Pete's lies. Pete briefly wondered if Patrick was cold up there on his pedestal before he remembered the way he had looked at him with well-concealed curiosity in between arguments, like he knew that beneath the exterior something darker was lurking inside.

_Impossible,_ Pete thought, shaking his head as he stepped inside his apartment. _There's no way he knew me for who I am in just one meeting. Bill never even knew what I was the first day we met. _It was true, actually.

Bill and Pete had met forty years ago, back when Bill was human and the heir of a huge fortune. The Becketts were a prestigious family hovering on the upper side of the economy. Pete had been a lowly drifter that had happened upon them, but the youngest son, Bill, had shown great hospitality toward him, for which Pete would always be thankful of. Then, everything had changed...

"Hello, Pete," drawled a dark voice from the corner. Pete looked up, shocked, as he shut his door, his keys almost falling out of his hands. The sudden realization that someone else was there with him woke him up from his deep thoughts and it took him the greater part of a second, even with faster-than-normal brain speed, to recognize that deep, dark voice.

"Gabe?" he asked with surprise. Gabe Saporta wasn't a vampire, but he knew everyone's business, and therefore was considered an inside informer for all the actual vampires in the city, good or bad. Finding him in your living room almost never meant good news.

Gabe nodded, one corner of his lips quirking up into a wicked grin. "In the flesh, Pete." That was always a little running joke of his when he visited the abodes of vampires. To Pete, it was nothing but a stupid thing to say and a very good way to end up dead at the hands of an angry vampire.

He crossed his arms over his chest, giving Gabe the best glare he could muster up, and considering the circumstances, Pete was pretty sure that his attempt had fallen flat. "What do you want, Saporta?"

Gabe kept grinning, stepping out of the shadows and sitting down on Pete's couch, the blinding purple hoodie that he always wore now bathed in the dim glow of the kitchen light that Pete had left on since he didn't like coming home to a dark apartment.

"Oh, just thought I'd drop by... I noticed you went and met Patrick Stump the other day," he added.

Pete was confused for a second before it dawned on him. "That's his last name?" he asked without even thinking that Gabe could very possibly be up to something. Gabe just nodded, oblivious to Pete's slip-up.

After Gabe had said that, Pete almost immediately began to piece together _why_ Patrick was so familiar to him. A long time ago, Pete had met someone else, just a little boy, who was in mortal peril…

"Are you listening to me, Pete?" Gabe asked testily, breaking through Pete's conscious. He was tapping his thigh impatiently with his fingers, glaring at the vampire.

"What? Oh—oh, yeah. I am," Pete lied.

Gabe shook his head, running a dark hand through his darker hair. "It's no use lying to me. I can tell that you were off in your own little world." His face suddenly lit up and he fixed dark brown eyes on Pete's face. "Thinking about Patrick, are we?" he asked slyly.

Pete's eyes widened. "N-no," he stammered. "Why would I be thinking of that asshole?"

There was something going on, Pete was sure of it. He just didn't want to be the first one to actually say it. There was a certain tension that electrified the room, and Gabe seemed highly reluctant to say anything without mulling it over first. All in all, it was sure signs that Pete should get the hell out, and quick, but he just couldn't seem to make himself put out that extra effort.

For now, all Gabe did was chuckle darkly. "Your comebacks never cease to amaze me. If I'm correct—which I'm sure I am—then you are pretty much head over heels for Patrick Stump. And don't deny it," he added when Pete opened his mouth to protest, shaking a finger. "I can read it in your actions. You want to avoid talking about this, but there's no way that's going to happen, Petey."

Pete closed his mouth, defeated. Gabe might not be a vampire, but he might as well be with the talents he possessed. "Fine," he huffed. "You're right. I barely even know the kid, and already he's got me wrapped around his damn finger." _Lies. I know him._

"Love's a fickle thing," Gabe supplied wisely, still grinning like he was enjoying Pete's discomfort, which, Pete rationalized with a grimace, he probably was. The sadistic bastard.

"What do you want, Gabriel?" he whined. He didn't want to deal with this anymore. All he wanted to do was sit on the couch, curl up and watch something that didn't pertain to vampires.

Gabe looked straight into Pete's eyes, all traces of taunting momentarily gone. "You know why I'm here," he said. "Travis and Ryland think you're getting a little too... _into_ this human world and they're afraid you're endangering their secret." His lips curled backward, like he actually felt disgusted by what Pete was doing.

Pete opened his mouth in protest and outrage. "What?!" he cried. "Their secret is as much mine—endangering them would be like putting my head out there on the chopping block!"

Gabe just shrugged, shoving his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie and making to get up off the couch. "It's just what they told me to tell you. I'm the messenger boy, after all," he said, the grin returning.

"Someday you're going to pay," Pete muttered angrily, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

"Oh, with what? Immortality? I haven't done a thing wrong and you know it. Goodbye, Pete," Gabe said as he darted out the front door to the apartment, leaving a buzzing silence in his wake. Pete sighed and dropped onto a kitchen stool, rubbing his hands across his eyes.

Someday this was all going to crash down on him, and hard. If that happened, Pete truthfully didn't know if he would be ready.

----

Gabe's unexpected visit made Pete completely paranoid for the next couple of days. When he would wake up, he'd check every window, the fire escape, and the main door, afraid that Travis and Ryland's cronies would be out there ready to annihilate him. So far, he was safe. That still didn't quell the burning fear that bubbled up inside him.

What he couldn't figure out was where the two elders had gotten the idea that he was a threat—no human knew his secret, and if they were counting Patrick, well, Pete didn't know what they could suspect. There hadn't been any suspicious activity between them that evening in the cubicle, and Bill had been there to referee anyway.

In the end, Pete decided that maybe they were just getting paranoid, which was ironic because that's what everyone seemed to be as of late.

The news reports, which used to be just background noise as he bustled around the kitchen, getting breakfast and himself ready, started vividly showing up in his mind. There had been multiple attacks on the city, and the victims were always found drained of blood.

Anyone with half a brain could figure out that it was the works of a renegade vampire, but of course the police just said it was a clever serial killer. "Please," Pete muttered the morning after the fourth attack. "This isn't _Dexter._"

There weren't many vampires gone awry, so Pete figured that maybe this was why Gabe had dropped by. Travis and Ryland didn't suspect him, but they didn't trust him, either, resulting in a typical lose-lose situation. Why was it always the good vampires that got blamed?

Still, he held onto the hope that maybe, this wasn't anything serious and was just a stray coven or possibly a baby vampire that had strolled through, taken their pick, and left before they could get caught.

The morning of the fifth attack, Pete decided that it was time to visit Bill and Adam.

----

The November chill was getting colder as Pete trudged along the city sidewalks, hoodie pulled up high against the wind. He didn't feel the wind as more than just a brush against his skin; the cold, a little nip, but it was smarter than walking around in just a shirt when everyone else was bundled up. Vampire rule number one: Act human, _be_ human.

He followed the familiar path down a few roads and past a few busy intersections that finally led him to the small, two-bedroom house that his fellow vampires owned. Pete rang the doorbell and waited patiently for them to answer. Sometimes it took Bill and Adam a little while to answer, and Pete _didn't_ want to know what they were doing.

When they answered he didn't even bother to fake camaraderie. He pushed past them and into their house, taking up home on their couch. "Well hey to you too, Pete," Adam said airily as he and Bill sat on the love-seat across from the couch, hands intertwined. Pete made a face.

"What's this all about?" Bill added, forehead creased in confusion. "Normally you're, you know, actually _somewhat_ polite. Or you fake it with appalling certainty."

Pete ignored the jab and decided to cut to the chase. "Gabe came over last night," he said. "Told me that Travis and Ryland said I was getting a bit too cavalier in my interaction with the humans." Every word carried a little bit of belligerence; something he knew was wrong but couldn't stop.

Adam looked repulsed. "What, why? You haven't done anything wrong."

Pete grinned sadly. "That's exactly what I said. But you know Gabe—he insisted that I actually had done something and that was it. I'm starting to think that maybe it's got something to do with like, all the attacks in the city. Maybe. Ryland has been around longer than Travis, so maybe he saw this coming, which also explains how Gabe got into the equation."

Bill nodded thoughtfully, leaning into Adam. "You're right. Things seem to be changing around here, and not for the better. When was the last time a vampire actually attacked and left people dead?"

Pete shrugged, shaking his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. "I don't know, Bill. I'm sensing a big change, like you said. Fights can't stay dormant this long." Adam made a sound of approval. The electricity that crackled around Gabe hadn't been because of Pete after all, which were both a relief and a new cause for worry.

This also explained a lot of other things that had been happening. The guy that Pete went to for his blood supply, Andy Hurley, had told him the other day that there seemed to be a problem with getting backup blood.

"A shortage," he'd said as he placed five bags of A-B positive blood in Pete's messenger bag. "It might be because of other vampires, or there might just be an earthly explanation to it as well. We can't just go blaming them for everything." Pete had laughed, but stopped when Andy clutched his arm, eyes serious.

"Promise me, Pete," he'd rasped. "Promise me that you aren't out there killing anyone who deserves to live. I trust you."

Pete was shocked, dark eyes scanning the morgue worker's face. He'd never kill a living human—he'd made that pact a long time ago. Even in times of extreme thirst, like now, he'd trained his self-control to be powerful enough that the sense of pulsing blood and warm skin didn't affect him as bad. And besides, Andy was a vampire as well, and he _knew_ Pete.

He'd still promised to Andy, and Pete rarely ever broke promises.

Breaking out of this memory, Pete suddenly stood up, eyes ablaze with determination. "I know what I'm going to do," he said.

"What?" Bill and Adam asked, looking up at Pete with worried expressions, like they were afraid he'd say something brash and irrational, which, truthfully, wasn't too far off-base.

Pete met their eyes and grinned, showing off his dazzlingly white teeth, knowing that he was definitely prone to stupid, idiotic decisions he never thought through. This one, though, was foolproof—if he formulated it right and laid on the sweet-talk. "It's time that I visited Patrick again," he announced, not missing Bill's worried look.

----

**Chapter two is done! :) I feel so proud. There will be more of PatrickxPeter action going on next chapter, so tune in!**


	3. You Want A War?

**DISCLAIMER:**Still the same. Warnings: slash, language (the F-bomb is dropped in this chapter), vampirism, violence (still not here yet). Don't read if any of this makes you uncomfortable. Read and review, please. It helps me greatly.

----

The plan to visit Patrick wasn't as concrete as Pete would have liked to have it, but the short notice was what caused this feeling of unease. Bill promised him that he'd go with him, saying that another one of his friends, Jon Walker, would meet up with them.

"He's not a vampire," Bill had explained as they got into his shabby old Grand Am, "but he is a good friend of mine. And he's also the editor-in-chief." He sat in the passenger seat, allowing Pete to drive, since he could tell that he was anxious enough as it was and whenever Pete was anxious, it was best to give him complete control.

Pete nodded, keeping his eyes on the road as they sped to the building. While he was excited at the prospect of seeing Patrick again, he also remembered the way Patrick had acted during their first meeting. He hoped that it wasn't like that this time. _Wishful thinking_, he thought to himself as he sped through the Chicago streets. _I'd have a better chance at becoming human again than actually having a peaceful visit._

The headlines on the morning news flashed through his mind, noisy and bright and ominous. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, barely paying attention to how he was driving. Patrick was his only hope of ever getting any inside information of the attacks and, in turn, the vampires responsible.

"We're here." Bill's voice cut through Pete's concentration and ultimately surprised him. He hadn't even noticed that he'd taken the turn-off and was in the parking lot. "Right," he replied disjointedly, putting the car into park and getting out.

He almost forgot to lock it but remembered at the last second. Bill gave him questioning looks, but Pete ignored them. The other vampire would laugh at him if he told him that the cause of this preoccupation was a short, fiery-tempered redhead.

Anxiety set in now that the building loomed ominously in front of them, large logo lit up on the modern structure. What if Patrick wasn't even working tonight? What if he wouldn't bother to tell them anything? What if—no, he had to keep a clear mind. He followed Bill into the building and waited impatiently beside him, tapping his foot against the carpeted floor. There didn't seem to be as many people here are the last time, which was both a good and bad thing.

The clicking of numerous BlackBerries and computer keyboards, combined with voices and ringing phones, created a dull roar of background noise that calmed Pete down a little. Being in such a... normal place was extraordinarily soothing.

Here, worries about renegade vampires didn't pass anyone's minds. No one had to be cautious of keeping a secret for years and years while the rest of their family died off. They were _normal_ citizens, something Pete missed dearly.

He eventually found himself straining to look past the tops of the cubicles, hoping to catch a glimpse of Patrick's red hair. He told himself that it was just because he wanted to know what was going on with all the killings, not that he actually _wanted_ to see the kid.

After all, Patrick hadn't been exactly amicable when they met. This was all about the innocent people getting killed, no matter who would tell them what they wanted to hear. Right?

"Bill!" a hearty voice called from across the room. Both Pete and Bill's heads snapped to attention.

He looked toward the direction the mysterious person called from and saw what could only be, from Bill's description, Jon Walker. With his short dark hair and equally short frame, he definitely looked like the type who would spend his life doing this.

Jon only spared Pete a second's curious glance before wrapping Bill in a bear hug despite the obvious height difference. "What brings you here?" he asked, grinning as his dark brown eyes looked from one boy to the other. Bill exchanged a glance with Pete before speaking. "Uh, we wanted to know, Jon, if Patrick Stump was working tonight?"

"Patrick?" Jon frowned, thinking. "Yeah, he's here. But I think he's on break right now."

"That's okay," Pete said quickly. "Just point us to the break room and we'll be gone."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Oh-kay"—he drew out the word skeptically—"let me show you there, then." He turned on the heel of his flip-flop (Pete wondered if dress codes were somehow not mandatory for bosses) and led them down to the break room, departing almost immediately after saying goodbye to Bill. Pete bounced on the balls of his feet as they looked for Patrick.

Bill gave him an odd look, stepping inside the dimly-lit room. "Calm down, Pete. If Jon says he's here, he's here."

"I can't help it!" Pete said exasperatedly. "I'm nervous." Bill scoffed, looking around. Spotting Patrick near the back of the room, he grabbed Pete's arm and led him toward the other boy.

Patrick looked up as they approached, looking somewhat shocked before one-part happy and one-part annoyed. Pete could guess who the second emotion was for. Patrick put down the sandwich that he was eating and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

The irritation vanished, only to be replaced by a careful, cool mask as he looked at Pete. "What?" he snapped, glaring at the both of them.

The hostility was tangible as he spoke. For someone who didn't look a day over the age of nineteen, he sure held a lot of anger. Pete frowned and was about to fire a retort back until, once again, Bill cut in. Pete gave him a sideways glare. That was starting to get annoying.

"Jon said you were here," Bill answered calmly, though firmly. "We wanted to know if you had any insight—any at all—to the murders happening around town."

Patrick scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm a reporter, dude. I have no more of an idea of what's going on than you do."

Bill stared him down. "That's funny, Patrick," he said, "'cause I've been under the impression that you're a _writer._ Isn't that what you told us last time? A _writer_?"

Silence followed Bill's accusation. The blush of guilt colored Patrick's cheeks as he quickly looked down. He didn't answer for a few minutes, and when he did, his voice was weary and tired, and his gaze that he fixed on the two in front of him was lost and hopeless.

"Look, Bill, Pete"—Pete was shocked Patrick even remembered his name—"I'm just a loser who can't keep a steady job, okay? No one gives a shit about the writers. All they want are the reporters. So that's what I tell everyone." He looked down again, biting his lower lip.

The flash of guilt Pete felt in the next second was smothering. So that was why he was bitter toward him. Pete could sympathize with this kid. He knew exactly how it felt to have a life and a job that he hated.

Pete mirrored him and bit his own lip, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on Patrick's shoulder. It was almost immediately shrugged off, and Patrick fixed his heated blue-green gaze on Pete's face.

"I don't need your fucking sympathy," he spat, getting to his feet. "My life is pathetic enough and I don't need _you_ to make it worse." He tried to get around them, but Pete grabbed his shoulders, momentarily forgetting that he was a tad stronger than most human beings.

Thinking that the look on Patrick's face was just shock that Pete had gotten physical and not because of his abnormal strength, Pete tried to explain. "I'm not here to make fun of you or make anything worse, Patrick. We just wanted to know about the killings, and we thought that you would be the best candidate for helping us. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is make it worse."

"Get... off... me," Patrick ground out, trying to twist from under Pete's iron grip. Pete sighed and let him go, but not before Patrick grabbed his wrist with what was, apparently, the strongest he could get. His eyebrows furrowed before he spoke and he withdrew his hand immediately. "Jesus, you're so fucking cold. Are you sick or something?" His tone was accusatory, like he thought he was going to get infected with some non-existent disease.

Pete swallowed nervously. He had completely forgotten about his lack of body heat. "N-no," he stammered, trying to think quickly for an explanation. "I just have... really, really low body heat." Patrick put his hands on his hips and kept up his glare. Pete didn't want to laugh, he seriously didn't, but Patrick looked so... _adorable_ pissed off and suspicious.

"Look," Bill said, "if you don't want to help us out, we can try and get someone else."

Patrick shook his head, sighing in resignation. "I can help you," he muttered. "But I'm warning you; the only thing I know is that all the victims were killed by the same wound—one single, long cut from the side of their neck down their arm."

Bill and Pete looked at each other quickly. "Thanks so much, Patrick," Pete said quietly before he and Bill left. Sneaking a quick peek around his shoulder, he could swear that he saw Patrick smile softly to himself as he sat back down to eat his forgotten lunch. _Yes_, Pete concluded. He was definitely cuter when he smiled.

----

"So that's where we are now?" Adam said after Pete and Bill had returned home and relayed what Patrick had told them. They both nodded.

"Which coven leaves a mark like that, Bill?" Adam asked, turning to face his lover.

Bill thought for a moment, pondering out loud. "Well, I do happen to know that Gabriel used to be a messenger for a vicious coven just outside city limits, but last I heard they fled the premises. There's always the possibility that Greta and Hayley's friends have done it, but for some reason murder just doesn't seem their style."

"What about, uh, Vicky? Suarez?" Pete asked suddenly, looking up.

Adam shook his head. "Nope. Vicky's dead, remember? And Suarez is either somewhere with Gabe, or gone from this state entirely. And since you just saw Gabe without Suarez, that means he's gone."

Pete crossed his arms. "Shit," he muttered. No other person stood out in his mind. There were hundreds of thousands of vampires that could be the cause of this.

"Nate!" Bill said suddenly, causing the other two to jump. "Nate Novarro. And Chizz. They're out there, and for awhile they had been unusually quiet."

Adam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right," he said, pecking Bill quickly on the cheek. Pete gagged, grinning as Adam rolled his eyes at the over exaggerated motion. "It would be so typically like Nate to drag innocent people into this."

Pete thought it through. Nate Novarro did have a streak of being unpredictable and a little on the sadistic side, but Chizz... this just didn't seem like him.

Michael Guy Chislett was an import: Australian, in fact. He had come to this country twenty years ago and accidentally fell into Nate's vampire cult. Never actually developing the crude nature of the rest of them, Chizz rarely ever participated in what they did, instead willfully choosing to be Nate's... boyfriend of sorts.

But now, what did it mean? That Nate and his coven had come back? That couldn't be possible, though. Ryland and Travis had banished them with a hefty warning a couple years ago, and since then no one else had heard of them. Gabe had even reported that Nate was nowhere to be found, and that was one of the few times that Pete had actually believed him.

"How could that be possible?" Pete eventually asked, raising an eyebrow. "They're supposed to be gone, remember?"

Adam shrugged. "Nate never was one to listen, Pete, you know that." Pete hated to admit it, but he was right.

"Well, you'd think that Ryland or Travis would have heard of this and taken care of it by now," he replied.

"That's just the thing," Bill put in, crossing his skinny arms over his chest. "They _haven't_ heard from them, and that's why this is still going on. They're not going to be careless like a baby vampire. Their tracks will be covered, as well as their scent. Pete, this is a coven of highly-skilled vampires, led by a leader who doesn't feel any remorse."

The truth sunk in. Eventually, they would come for the three of them, and in the meantime, more humans would be killed. The distinguishing mark from the neck down the arm was a warning. A taunt. Nate was saying, to anyone who understood the symbolism, that they were back, and they were unstoppable.

----

**Ahh. Another chapter done. It feels so good to be productive. So, what did you think? Reviews keep the fire alive. :)**


	4. You're Awful, I Love You

**DISCLAIMER: **I own nothing except my own elements. Warnings: slash, language, innuendo, vampirism. Don't read if this makes you uncomfortable. Read and review, please. It makes me write faster. :)

A/N: I'm sosososo sorry for the long wait. I go back to school next week, so that'll be another reason for scarcer updates. Don't worry; I'll be back in full force by hopefully late this month/early September. I've got lots planned for this story. ;)

----

Sometimes, things were easier said than done. In this case, that statement was very true for Pete. After he had talked to Adam and William about finding Nate and his coven, he jumped straight into research, trying to find the best possible way to determine just _where_ the others were. So far, it wasn't going so well.

That was five hours ago, and now the sun was setting across the Chicago skyline. Long shadows stretched across the length of the apartment, and, had Pete been human, his eyes would have been straining in the dim light. He sighed and shut the lid of his laptop down a little harder than he had intentionally meant to. Five hours of going absolutely nowhere.

"It's just barely started and I've already hit a dead-end," Pete muttered, his head in his hands.

He wouldn't give up yet; too much was at stake for that. Instead, he lounged back in his chair and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He quickly dialed Bill's number and waited for the other vampire to pick up.

"Hello?" Bill barely got out before Pete jumped in.

"Bill, I've got a problem," he said urgently.

"And that is...?" Bill asked distractedly, like he was used to Pete calling him up at all hours of the day, which, taking Pete's spontaneity into case, he probably was.

Pete opened up his laptop again, waiting impatiently for it to start up where he had left off. "I can't find anything that would help us even start to locate Nate. I know that the internet isn't the best place to search for vampires, but it's the only place I can think of looking."

The silence after his statement unnerved Pete, who shifted in his chair uneasily. Bill finally spoke, and this time his voice was laced with a tint of laughter. "Pete... oh wow. You looked _up_ Nate and his coven? That's not the smartest idea since, obviously, he doesn't have a permanent residence and therefore no way of being tracked."

Pete opened his mouth in protest to Bill's amused tone. "But—I thought that the whole point was to look for specifically Nate. You said—"

"I didn't say anything, Pete. You're doing that thing again."

"What thing is that?" Pete snapped, agitated.

"You're hearing what you want to hear. Looking up vampires on Google isn't going to get you anywhere except maybe fiction sites."

Pete growled in frustration, clenching his eyes shut. "Then what do you want me to do?" He didn't feel like correcting Bill and saying that no, he wasn't as stupid as to Google vampires. The fight was draining out of him with every new complication that arose.

Bill laughed. "What I want you to do, Pete, is take it easy. You're starting to sound like Patrick. All this business with Nate has really gotten you worked up."

Pete sighed, slumping down in his seat. "Y-You're right, Bill. I am way too worked up over this. I think I'm going to go visit Andy." He hit the End button and got up, stretching.

The visit to the mortician's was long overdue; he was definitely running low on blood, but he could hear Andy's words in the back of his mind about the shortage they were experiencing, thanks to Nate's killing spree. "Oh well," he said out loud to himself as he shrugged on his hoodie. "It doesn't hurt to try."

----

Stepping into the hospital morgue was like stepping into a freezer. Even without a pulse and body heat, Pete always found it extremely cold down here. He often asked Andy how he stood it down here all the time with only a lab coat as extra warmth. Andy would always laugh and say that, like everything else, he got used to it.

This time around, Pete stood awkwardly waiting by the door as Andy finished up with the body of a middle-aged woman. Not a casualty of Nate's spree, thank god, but a victim of natural death. After Andy had put the sheet up over the body and slid it into a separate refrigerated compartment, washed his hands and faced Pete, the vampire was fidgeting noticeably.

"Rough time?" Andy asked with a laugh.

Pete gave him a shaky grin. "Just still a little weirded out by being down here," he said." I don't know how you can stand dealing with dead bodies all day."

Andy went over to the freezer where the blood packets he kept for Pete were. "This coming from a vampire."

"A vampire who still doesn't like to kill for blood," Pete pointed out as Andy handed him a bag. Andy shook his long auburn hair out of his eyes and laughed again. "As always, Wentz, you've got a good point."

The grin Pete gave him lasted only a few seconds, like many others had recently. "Actually, Andy, I really wanted to ask you about the victims you've gotten that all died from the same thing," he said, voice trembling slightly.

Andy raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, mulling the question over for a few seconds. "And you're sure this is a relevant question?" he finally asked skeptically.

Pete nodded fervently, eyes bright and troubled. "Yeah, it really is. This isn't just coming from my blood shortage or anything, but Bill, Adam, and I are really worried that there's a... dangerous vampire on the loose with a bunch of followers."

Andy whistled. "So like a legion or something?"

"Coven, but exactly," Pete confirmed, as surprised as ever at how fast his human friend always caught on. "He's supposed to be banned by our council, but apparently that means shit to him. He's been killing a bunch of humans—well, him and his followers—with a long, gaping cut from their neck to their arm—"

"Their brachial artery to their carotid artery?" Andy cut in, sliding his thick-rimmed glasses from where they had slid down back up his nose. Pete blinked but nodded after a few stunned seconds. "Yeah, I guess that's about right. But anyway, they're making that their symbol or something. I doubt they're actually drinking the spilled blood, but they very well could be."

Before Andy could answer, his phone rang on the table across the room. He dived for it, quickly answering it. Pete only caught his end of the conversation, but he could tell from Andy's huge grin and elated voice that this was a call that he had been waiting for all day.

Again, Pete felt that familiar stab of longing. He just _hated_ being out of the loop. Bill had Adam, and now, it seemed that Andy had someone special himself. Pete sighed and pushed his black bangs out of his face, biting his lip. He could always ask Patrick...

_No,_ Pete snapped to himself. _He hates anything to do with anyone caring about him._

He couldn't believe that Patrick always managed to squeeze himself into his thoughts. It constantly reminded Pete that he hadn't ever really felt this strongly for anyone before. It just so happened that this certain someone possibly hated him, of course. And, yeah, he was _human._

Pete barely had time to feel sorry for himself and his predicament when Andy snapped his phone shut and strode back to where he had been standing before, a visible bounce in his step and audible higher note to his voice when he spoke back up.

"Boyfriend?" Pete asked with a raised brow, small smirk on his lips. Andy blushed but nodded an affirmation, face still flushed with glee. "Yeah... he asked me to dinner tonight."

Pete barked a laugh and leaned against the wall. "I think someone's getting some tonight," he said with a suggestive wink. "Does this mystery boyfriend have a name that begins with a J and ends with an E?"

It was commonly known that Joe, the pharmacist who had really amazing hair in Pete's opinion, liked Andy. A lot. And Pete could tell that Andy _really_ liked him too, with the way he always tried to avoid the subject.

Andy flushed an even darker shade of red—_one that looked _so_ much like Patrick, _Pete thought with lament before he could stop himself—and tried poorly to defend himself. "N-no, it's nothing like that. He just wants to go to a movie and dinner..."

"Andy," Pete said, picking up where the other man had left off, "don't you think that a movie is the perfect make-out spot? 'Cause I _was_ one-hundred years old this June, and I _have_ seen quite a bit and been on a fair share of dates myself."

"So what more is there about Nate and his coven?" Andy said, steering the subject away.

Pete chuckled but let it go. "There's just that. I thought I'd warn you so you'd know just what to look for the next time a victim of his rolls in on that steel tray."

Andy nodded, looking around. "So who told you this bit of information?"

The question caught Pete off guard, because now the chips were on the table. He knew he couldn't say Patrick's name without some sort of wistful tone in his voice. So he swallowed and grit his teeth, figuring _might as well just get it over with_.

"Patrick Stump," he answered, trying not to display just how much this name troubled and excited him at the same time. A confusing compound of emotions that unsettled his stomach and set his non-beating heart into, figuratively, frenzied palpitations.

Now it was Andy's turn to raise a questioning brow. "All this emotion for a reporter you questioned?"

"Writer," Pete corrected without a second thought. "And he just—"

"Stole your heart, didn't he?" Andy finished, voice suddenly soft and sympathetic. Pete sighed in defeat and mumbled a sullen _yes_, keeping his eyes on the ground. He was just memorizing the stitching on his white Converse when he felt Andy's hand on his shoulder.

He looked up, meeting the steely gray gaze of his friend. "Pete, I've seen you at your most vulnerable. I've seen when you're on the brink of insanity due to thirst. Most boys you tell me about don't bring this much emotion, so you've obviously not spoken about this to anyone," Andy said, his voice and touch equally soft as the hand he rested on Pete's shoulder.

Pete rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I haven't. But that's because it's stupid!" He focused his gaze on the gray-white walls behind Andy. "I'm a vampire, okay? I can't be in love with a human. Things just don't work out that way. I just—I always see people like Bill and Adam who are so goddamned _happy_ and in love together, and I want that so bad. I've never had that before in my life, and now that I possibly _could_ have it, it won't work out."

He hung his head and shrugged Andy's comforting hand off, wrapping his arms around his midsection. He knew what he wanted to say; it was right on the end of his tongue. All he had to do was open his mouth and _say it._ But, if he did, how much could it change? It wasn't like he hadn't wished it countless times before.

Right now, everything seemed amplified. With the tension in the air and the threat hanging like a dark, rain-sodden cloud over their heads, Pete tried to watch what he said. He could never be too careful. He sighed, thinking about how weird it was to exhale without having the need to breathe. Again, something he had thought about so many times in the past one-hundred years.

Andy waited patiently for Pete to talk, not moving or displaying any signs of impatience. His disposition bothered Pete; he was jealous of Andy's ability to be so calm and collective in almost every situation. But in times like these, he was glad to have Andy as his rock of sorts.

He looked up, jaw set and hazel eyes dark. "I wish I had never become a vampire," he finally said, letting the words soak in.

Andy nodded. "I completely understand, dude. This must be hard, battling moral from emotions."

Pete zipped up his hoodie further, heading for the door without answering. "Just call me whenever you find something more in the bodies of the victims," he said over his shoulder as he shut the door, not bothering to hear his friend's response.

As he walked back upstairs, he passed Joe, who grabbed his shoulder and turned so that they faced each other, a friendly grin on his face. Pete allowed himself a wide-eyed glance at the enormous amount of hair atop Joe's head before the pharmacist was speaking. "Yo, Wentz. I haven't seen you around here in awhile, man."

Pete shrugged. "Here and there, dude." He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets, looking at the white tile of the hospital hallway.

Joe nodded, looking thoughtful. "Hey, you haven't happened to see Andy around here anywhere, have you?" A couple pages on the clipboard he was holding rustled as he moved the, checking patient's charts and prescription numbers.

"Have you tried the basement?" Pete answered, a weak attempt at joking.

Joe laughed, clapping Pete on the back as he started to enter the door Pete had just left. "I'd forgotten how funny you were," he said over his shoulder. "You just might have to like, show your face around here again sometime in the next eon."

"I'll try." Pete turned once the door clicked closed and hurried as fast as he could out of the acrid-smelling building.

The minute he stepped outside into the city air, he felt less restrained, like a vice had been taken off his chest. Being down in the morgue always bothered him for some reason that he couldn't fathom. He headed for the car, turning up the radio as loud as he could stand the minute the engine started up.

Planning on heading back home to his apartment and watching movies until well into the morning, Pete felt his dampened spirits lift slightly as he sped down the highway. He had everything under control; Andy was looking for distinguishable marks on victims, Bill and Adam were trying to figure out the best way to approach this. All Pete had to do was find a way to get Patrick off his mind, and what better way than to fill his thoughts with mindless violence and gore?

What he didn't expect, though, was what would come much, much later that night.

----

**:) I'm really excited for these next few chapters. I haven't gotten them down yet, but I've got quite a few ideas in my head and on the Notepad on my enV. I'm also thinking of maybe doing a song of the chapter from now on that sort of reflects the mood or what's going on. Yes/No? Reviewsplz!**


	5. I'm A Wonder

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing except my own elements. Warnings are: slash, language, vampirism. Don't read if you don't like. By the way, in this chapter there's some almost-kissage, so if you don't want to read that, I'm just warning you.

A/N: I totally looked around my room at my five-thousand (exaggeration but I'm letting it slide because I've got a _ton_ of FOB posters) Fall Out Boy posters for an outfit to describe Patrick in. I also thought back to an As The World Turns clip of Luke and Noah for the Pete and Patrick scene, to get the reaction and movement just right.

----

The wonderful thing about being a vampire was the lack of a need to sleep. Of course, Pete had been an insomniac since he was a little kid, but now he actually had a valid excuse to be up at five in the morning.

It wasn't quite five yet, though. Last time that Pete had checked the clock, the hands sat at quarter-past three. He still sat on his couch, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on satellite without really watching what popped up on the screen.

Since he had gotten home from the morgue his thoughts had stayed to the conversation he had with Andy. Pete had to admit that he was right; the internal battle between his emotions and right from wrong was exhausting, mentally and physically, and the lack of sufficient blood wasn't helping matters.

Patrick was who Pete had waited his entire life for. The proverbial _one_. However stupid and corny it sounded, Pete knew in his guts that it was true. Just meeting the kid a couple of times still confirmed that they were destined. "_No,_" he growled out loud, surprising himself by breaking the silence. He threw his remote roughly onto the couch and got up, pacing around the living room with his hands clasped behind his back.

There had to be something, _anything,_ he could do about this. Some way he could forget. _Right now,_ Pete thought sardonically, _I'd give anything for Gabe to pop up and give me some bad news._

Nothing happened, though, after time lapsed from five minutes, to twenty, to forty. Pretty soon an hour had passed and Pete was at the window, looking down onto the city lights. Red-and-gold blurs sped by on a black snake of highway, and on both sides of the interstate yellow lights from other apartment and office buildings lit up the cloudy night.

It was weird, to see just how many other people were up or had gone to work at this hour. That thought calmed him a little, and that claustrophobic feeling that normally only came about when he was at his lowest eased up. "I'm so messed up," Pete muttered, rubbing at his black-lined eyes.

The city lights reflected in the cold glass, illuminating Pete's dark-for-a-vampire face and worried features; the lips drawn into a tight line, troubled shadows in his hazel eyes, unkempt hair and disheveled clothes. He eyed the distance from his thirty-third story apartment to the ground, wishing that he could just jump out the window and end it all.

He lost track of how long he stood there and stared, but the sun was just barely making its entrance over the horizon, peeking through a break in the clouds, painting the sky in light blues, pinks, and oranges when a loud, frantic rapping came to his door. Pete turned quickly from the glass, eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What the hell?" he said out loud, surprised. Bill and Adam wouldn't be calling at this hour, Andy would have called if something had come up, and Gabe, with his freaky ninja skills, somehow always found a quieter way into every closed room. When Pete didn't answer the door right away, the knocking became even louder, this time accompanied with a frightened voice that Pete would recognize anywhere.

"Pete! Pete, please… open up! It's me, Patrick!"

Debating for a split second whether to just tell Patrick to fuck off, ask him just _how_ he had found this apartment in the first place, and coming valiantly to his rescue, the side hopelessly in love with him won and Pete scrabbled to unlock the door. Besides, something _had_ to be wrong if Patrick was here this early in the morning.

Patrick threw himself into the apartment as soon as the door was opened, eyes wide and scared. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. Pete noticed, thanks to his speedy once-over before he turned nonchalantly away, that Patrick dressed very different outside of work.

The attire was a nice change from the work-required dress clothes, truthfully. A plain green newsboy cap covered his red hair, allowing the uncut ends to curl out and cover his sideburns; he was wearing a tan-and-brown striped sweater, jeans and brown Pumas. All in all, Pete figured that he was going to have to hang out with Patrick outside of work more often if he looked this amazing. Just, not in these situations.

Giving him a few minutes to catch his breath, Pete flipped on the light, bathing the once-dark room in warm overhead lighting. Patrick closed his eyes against the sudden burst of light before walking over and collapsing on Pete's couch.

Pete stood there, arms crossed over his chest, wondering what he should do. He could comfort Patrick, ask him what was wrong. Or, he could stand there and look like a total tool. Luckily, he didn't have to wait because Patrick spoke up the next second, voice still breathy and scared.

"Thank you…" he breathed, closing his eyes again, this time out of exhaustion, as he slumped down into the cushions, trying to calm down.

"Not a problem," Pete said skeptically. "What, may I ask, is the problem, exactly?"

"I don't know!" Patrick exclaimed, his eyes snapping wide open again. Their blue-green color was both startling and disconcerting. Pete had never noticed just how pretty the irises were.

"I was sitting in my apartment, watching TV because I couldn't stop—couldn't sleep"—Patrick quickly caught himself, and Pete wondered just what he was about to say—"when all of a sudden I hear something smash. I jump up off my bed and peer into the living room, wondering what the fuck had happened, when I see _them._"

He paused to catch his breath, allowing Pete a couple seconds to sit down in the easy chair next to the couch, eyes intently fixed on Patrick. Patrick swallowed and took a deep breath, licking his lips, and Pete dared to look, remembering just how _sinful_ those lips looked.

"What exactly are _them_?" Pete asked, putting the same emphasis on the word as Patrick did.

Patrick visibly shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "I-I don't know," he reiterated, reaching up a hand to tug at the brim of his hat. "I thought—I thought that they were just robbers or something, but then I looked at their faces." Pete swallowed nervously, somehow knowing exactly what was coming next. "They were… horrible. Their eyes were blood-red, and their skin was almost translucent, but yet it was ghastly white." He looked up at Pete, eyes burning. "Almost like you."

Pete ignored the question and instead shakily asked, "W-what else?"

Patrick paused again, sitting up straight. "They saw me. They looked at me like—like I was a piece of meat. They—they were going to kill me, Pete. So I ran."

"How'd you know where to find me?"

"I had looked it up earlier in the week, at the office." Patrick didn't look one bit guilty, though a small flush had colored his otherwise-pale cheeks. "I'm glad I did, because I don't know what would have happened had they got a hold of me." He took a deep, shuddering breath. Pete waited a few tense moments, wondering if Patrick would continue. He didn't.

"How many were there?" Pete asked, still not done.

"Two," Patrick answered quickly. "There were two, and they were both bathed in shadow, 'cause I had turned the light off. But they ripped my entire fucking door off its hinges and left it lying in splinters. _Who does that, Pete?_ That's not… that's not anything human. It can't be."

_Shit,_ Pete thought, his eyes wide as he sat up straight, back rigid and hands clenched into fists at his thighs. _Ryland and Travis won't be happy to hear about this. Nate's after people who know the truth behind him. He and Chizz found Patrick, and now they're coming after me. After _all_ of us._

"Pete?" Patrick asked timidly, voice small. Pete didn't hear him; inside, he was panicking, because now he knew exactly where the renegade vampires were and what their motivation was._ I need to call Bill and Adam._

"Wait here," he gruffly told Patrick, getting up faster than he knew he should have if he was going to keep up this human charade, and got the house phone out of the kitchen. He fumbled to dial Bill's number, messing it up a few times due to his haste. When it finally started ringing, he held the phone impatiently to his ear. He knew that Bill would still be in bed with Adam, but sleep be damned.

"Hello?" a groggy voice answered.

"Finally!" Pete said, not bothering to mask the irritation evident in his voice. "Adam, where's Bill?"

Adam yawned on the other line. "He's in the shower right now. Why?"

Pete slammed his fist into the counter, causing the silverware and glasses to rattle and the granite countertop to give way to tiny spider web fissures under his fist. "Fuck! I need to talk to him." He paused, chewing on his lower lip. "Just tell him Nate's on the move. He tried to kill that kid Bill told me about, Patrick Stump."

Now Adam sounded wide awake. "He _what_?" he asked in disbelief.

"He tried to kill Patrick, Adam. He and Chizz broke into his goddamned apartment and were looking for him."

"Is he…? I mean, is Patrick—"

"He's in my living room right now," Pete said. "He's fine. A little shaken up, but he's okay."

Adam breathed a sigh of relief. "One less victim," he muttered before getting back on task. "Do you think we should tell Ryland and Travis?"

"I think it would be a good idea," Pete agreed. "They already know something's out there, but I don't think that they expect Nate. Like we said a few days ago, if Ryland and Travis had heard about this, they'd have done something. Nate's covering his tracks pretty good now."

Hoping that Adam would pass on the message, Pete clicked the phone off and put it back in its cradle. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that was again showing itself. "Patrick?" he called. The answering noise came from the living room, and Pete felt horrible; here in his living room sat a traumatized human who had had a run-in with a couple of bloodthirsty vampires, and Pete wasn't trying to console him in any way.

Feeling nervous for the first time, Pete tentatively stepped into the living room, seeing that Patrick had huddled up at one end of the couch, knees drawn to his chest. Pete sat back in the chair, thinking for a couple minutes. "Are you okay, 'Trick?" he asked softly, hoping that maybe a nickname would calm the other boy down.

Patrick gave him a small smile. "Yeah… a little, I guess. I just need to forget about that."

Pete chuckled. "Those kinds of things will do that to you," he said, slipping into silence again. He didn't bother to ask if Patrick wanted something. He knew that wasn't necessary.

It was Patrick who spoke up next, his words sounding well-thought out. "If—if you knew what happened with who broke into my apartment, why aren't you telling me?" Pete gave him a sidelong glance, seeing the unshed tears brimming in Patrick's eyes.

He sighed and put his hand in his hands, muffling his voice. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. Besides, I can't. It's classified information."

Patrick scoffed and Pete chanced a look from between his fingertips, seeing that he was staring at him with a fine blond eyebrow raised. "Do you think I'm supposed to believe that?" he asked, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk. Pete felt like melting.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he answered. "Your life is in danger, and the less you know about it, the better."

Apparently telling Patrick what was best for him wasn't a very good thing. Before Pete knew it, Patrick had stood up with a mutinous gleam in his eyes. "You think you can tell me what to do?" he asked dangerously, voice hovering on the threshold of yelling.

"Look," Pete tried, standing up and putting a good few feet of space between them. "I'm not telling you what to do with your life. If you want to go out there unprotected, fine. It's not my fucking job to keep you safe and alive. By all means, go back home. See how long your heart still beats."

Patrick clenched his jaw, not bothering to answer. Pete turned away, still feeling angry. He had just saved the kid's life and this was how he repaid him? _Fuck how I feel about this kid,_ Pete thought angrily, stepping into his room to get his Sidekick._ If Patrick wants to act like this, he can. All I really need is for Nate and Chizz to be gone. He's just a hindrance._

Just a hindrance—right? For some reason, Pete didn't believe himself when he thought that. He sat on his bed for awhile, turning his phone over and over in his hands, thinking. He knew, deep down, that if Patrick got killed—or worse, turned into a vampire—he'd never forgive himself. He just figured that it was safer if Patrick never knew exactly what Pete was.

Heaving one last sigh and gripping his phone tightly in his left hand, he exited his room and went back into the living room, noticing that Patrick had gone to stand by the window. His frame was slouched in defeat and worry, the weight of the whole world on him. They both stood in silence until Pete cleared his throat.

Patrick whirled around so fast that it was a wonder he didn't crick his neck. Pete gave him a sheepish grin that Patrick eventually returned with some reluctance. "You can go home," he said, motioning to his phone. "When I was on the phone earlier, I got the, uh, all-clear that your apartment should be safe. My friends are keeping an eye out for you." _And so am I._

"Thank you," Patrick breathed, rushing over to envelop Pete in a hug. Shocked, Pete awkwardly returned it, being careful not to squeeze too tight this time. Patrick smelled like expensive cologne—Drakkar Noir, maybe?—and sweet blood. Pete managed, somehow, to ignore that last part, instead relishing in the warmth that radiated from Patrick's body.

They pulled away, Pete with some reluctance, and Patrick stepped back, shyly hiding his face with the brim of his hat. "I-I guess I should be going," he said, looking up. Pete bit his lip and they both moved closer, almost simultaneously.

"Thanks for keeping me safe," Patrick said softly. "It means a lot…"

He trailed off, moving closer to Pete. Thoughts rushed through the vampire's mind like a whirlwind, mixing in with the knowledge of what was going on. _Is this really happening_? Pete asked himself. He swallowed, hands shaking at his sides as Patrick leaned up. Their eyes were half-lidded and their mouths were partially open, both wanting, _knowing_ what they were feeling. Pete felt Patrick's warm breath ghost across his cold lips. It was almost surreal.

He leaned in as well, leaving only a centimeter of space between their mouths. Patrick moved to close the distance, but at the last second he moved away, their noses brushing as he stepped quickly back, looking apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't be—I should go," Patrick stammered, wringing his hands and quickly thanking Pete again before opening the door and rushing out.

Pete stood there for what felt like eons, dumbfounded at what had almost happened. They had almost _kissed_. Patrick had almost kissed him. A grin spread across his lips, letting him momentarily forget the problems of the outside world. All that mattered was what had gone on in his living room. There was a chance, he knew it.

The only thing was, what about the obvious problem of mortality? Patrick was human, and, well, he _wasn't_. He could die if Pete did something wrong. Despite this, Pete forced himself not to think about the negativities of this situation as he sat down onto the couch, away from the spot where Patrick had once rested.

_It's only a matter of time_…

----

**Woo! I'm so excited about this. I remembered to put this on the orginal Word document, and it's turning out to be pretty long. Well, for me hahah. Hope you liked. :)**


	6. Oh, Here It Goes Again

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own anything, again. I wish I did, but sadly, I'm just a writer. Warnings: slash, language, violence, vampirism. Don't read if you are uncomfortable. There is kissing in this chapter! Well, making out, to be technical. Don't say I didn't warn you!

----

Pete decided not to say anything about what had gone on to Adam or worse yet, Bill. When he met up with them later that day, he knew that it was obvious that he was immensely happier than before, but he was glad that they didn't pry. The less they knew the better. Bill wouldn't stop hounding on him until he promised to give up Patrick completely, which was something Pete _knew_ he couldn't do.

The day had melded into afternoon, the weather turning out to be mildly warm, which was a rare occurrence in Chicago in November. Thanksgiving was coming up in a few weeks, and he found himself, yet again, having to spend it alone. He smiled to himself ironically. Of course he would be. He couldn't exactly eat human food, let alone an entire feast.

Asking Patrick suddenly flitted through his mind, but he quickly dismissed the thought. No way would that work. How could he explain that he couldn't eat food? As much as he'd love it… some things just didn't fit in with his lifestyle, no matter how hard he tried.

A chill breeze cut through the air, sending fallen leaves scuttling dryly along the street. The air smelled sweet and crisp, tinged with smoke from people's fireplaces. Pete loved this time of year. It was better than the stifling heat of summer, the damp humidity of spring, and the dead feeling of winter.

Bill and Adam's doorstep loomed in his line of vision. Pete approached it, fully intending to knock, when the door opened by itself, revealing a man Pete had never seen before. He looked at him curiously.

"Where's Bill?" Pete asked, figure rigid as his lips pulled back enough to look menacing.

The man grinned, stepping aside to let Pete in without answering his question. Giving him a hard stare, Pete entered Bill's house, not turning his back on the stranger. All of his vampire instincts were alert and focused, tensing his muscles up like a coiled spring. This was someone he didn't know, someone who could very well be a threat.

Inside, Bill and Adam sat calmly on the couch, thighs touching as Adam held both his and Bill's hands in his lap. Pete looked from their posture and happy grins before asking, "God, one of you isn't pregnant, is he?" Both men on the couch erupted into raucous laughter, while the mysterious man closed the door, chuckling quietly.

"What?" Pete asked angrily. So maybe his question was dumb. It wasn't _that_ funny.

It was Adam who spoke up. "Pete, this is Jason, my brother," he introduced, trying not to look condescending. Pete noticed the resemblance now, except Jason had longer hair and more muscle. He also wasn't a vampire, which led Pete to wonder if he knew about his brother and everyone else in the room.

"He knows about me." Adam answered Pete's unasked question. _Fucking psychic_.

"Oh."

Adam nodded, smiling as Bill leaned into his side. "I called Jason up because I thought that maybe he could help us stop Nate. After you called this morning, freaking out, I knew we had to act soon before anyone else got hurt," Adam said. "It's not enough to just go to Ryland and Travis."

_It sure as hell isn't_, Pete thought.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. "Pete, right?" he asked, looking at the older vampire. Pete nodded, biting back a sarcastic remark. After all, Jason was just trying to help all of them. He motioned for Pete to sit down in the chair by the window as he pulled a chair from the kitchen into the living room, sitting down and facing the rest of the group. The love-seat was left unoccupied for now.

"Okay," he started, "we all know that there's a dangerous problem that doesn't just affect the immortal part of the city, but the more-prominent mortal part. Bill, you said something about Ryland and Travis, right?"

Bill nodded, looking across the room to Pete. "He suggested it. After Patrick was almost killed, it really freaked him out." Pete gave him a scathing look, knowing exactly what Bill was hinting to. Bill returned the gesture, letting him know that this conversation wasn't over with yet.

Jason ignored their exchange and continued on, undaunted. "If you go talk to these guys—what are they exactly?"

"The unofficial leaders of our kind," Adam said, while Bill added, "Ryland's more of the leader, though. Travis is basically, you know, _there_." Jason nodded, looking thoughtful as he remained silent. He spoke back up after a few tense minutes.

"I think, possibly, that maybe just Ryland and Travis should be involved in this. They're older, aren't they? So they'll obviously be better equipped to deal with this," he said.

"Hell no!" Pete spoke up, outraged. He jumped out of his seat, reddening eyes narrowed as his lips pulled back, revealing his canines, which seemed to grow with each second. "Patrick was almost killed, and I am not letting all of us just sit on our asses and do nothing." It was this outburst that suddenly evaporated any happiness in the room.

Jason didn't flinch, and, in the end, it was Adam who tried to calm him down. "Easy, Pete," he said. "Your instincts are taking over again." Pete knew that he was right; only when vampires got angry did they shift.

Adam continued. "We're not going to _not_ do anything. Believe me, none of us want Patrick dead either." He looked to Bill, who then got up and led Pete out of the room with a brusque statement. Pete left, albeit not without coercion from Adam, who was narrowing his eyes until Pete tossed his hands up in submission and followed Bill. He glared at him, chest still heaving as he tried to calm down. Slowly his eyes were fading back to hazel.

They stopped in the kitchen, where Bill poured them both glasses of blood. Pete took it eagerly, tipping the glass back and drinking hungrily. When he was done, Bill put a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes.

"You remember when you met me, don't you?" he asked, not taking his hand off Pete's shoulder. Pete gave him a curious look but nodded, wondering what this was all about. Bill gave him a half-smile. "Good. Tell me what happened."

Now Pete _really_ wondered what was wrong, but he decided to humor him anyway, just to see where this was headed. "I was a vampire by the time we met. Had been for fifty years. I had no home, no one to look after me. By then I had been able to control myself and my urges, and I spent a lot of time among the humans. I was passing through upper Chicago when I found you," he began, shrugging Bill's hand off before settling down into a chair. Bill imitated him.

"Your family was among the wealthiest ones here with an air of higher authority about them, and I figured that you'd be the same way, too. But you weren't, and that was why I was so drawn to you. Despite your parents' wishes you provided me a home, shelter, food and protection. I never stopped appreciating that; I still haven't, actually. Even if there was food for me, I couldn't eat it. I still had to hunt to keep from killing all of you. It was a night that I was out hunting when I found you." Pete swallowed, debating whether or not to go on.

Bill smiled sadly and pushed his curly brown hair out of his eyes. "It's okay," he said softly. "It hurts less as the decades pass."

Pete grinned sadly back, delving back into the tale. "I hunted out in the back woods, being careful to cover my tracks and hide the bodies of animals that I killed. A lot of the times I took the back roads home, to avoid being questioned as to why I was out so late alone. When I passed a dark alley and heard scuffling, I stopped to check. I smelled vampire decay on the wind and panicked. Whatever was going on, it wasn't good.

"I rushed into the alley, adrenaline and anger the only things that were pushing me forward. There were five of them, all crowded around—around something on the ground. I hissed and dove at them. They scattered, rushing off and vanishing into the darkness. They were just punks, knew they couldn't take on an older vampire. The figure on the ground was out cold, so I didn't think of trying to save their life. I leaned down, intending to pick them up and finish them off to put them out of their misery, when the light caught their face."

Pete choked, clenching his eyes shut. As much as it hurt Bill, it hurt him almost the same, too. It was someone he couldn't save, even if he had wanted to. What made it worse was the fact that it had been someone he had _cared_ about. Someone who had given him a home and who had felt that he was more than just a drifter.

With a deep breath to calm his nerves, Pete continued. "It was—it was you, and you were b-barely breathing. I saw the marks, saw the blood. I knew that you were going to turn, because I felt that that was what those punks had intended. I didn't know what to do. After carrying you into the woods and finding a clearing to sit in, I thought until your breathing had almost stopped. I ran to your house—_our_ house, you could say—as quickly as I could, leaving a note for your parents stating that you had run away to the West Coast. California. You wanted an education that just couldn't be done here.

"By the time I got back to your body, your breathing had stopped. It was only a matter of three days before you woke back up, this time as a baby vampire. There was a long stretch of road ahead of both of us. Getting used to being… immortal takes years of time, and getting used to the craving for blood takes even longer."

"Good," Bill said happily, trying to mask the pain and sadness in the room with faux-cheer. "It _did_ take a long time, didn't it, before I could control myself. It wasn't long after I left to find my own place that I met Adam." At his lover's name, a wistful, joyful tone successfully chased away the pain.

Pete laughed. "Yeah, I remember that. I had taken some money from your house to get an apartment for both of us during those few years," he said.

Bill punched him playfully on the shoulder. "I still think you need to get a house."

"Oh, and live with who? The ghosts of my past?"

"Funny," Bill replied, raising his eyebrows. "I know who you're thinking about, Pete, and it just can't be done."

Pete set his jaw and clenched his fingers against the material of his hoodie. "You don't know anything, William," he snapped. Bill looked taken aback for a second at the usage of his full name and Pete's angry tone, but he recovered quickly, lapsing into the same mood as the man sitting next to him.

"You know I do, _Peter_. You're thinking about Patrick. It's trouble, okay? He's a human and you're not. There are a million ways you could hurt him, even if you only kissed him—"

"Who's said we've kissed?" Pete asked, thinking back to early that morning. Technically, it wasn't a kiss…

Bill eyed him suspiciously. "No one. I was just saying… but that seemed like an awfully guilty confession."

"Well, it wasn't," Pete huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Immediately, Bill felt bad for him. He _did_ have Adam, and Pete hadn't had anyone in years. Who was he to have such a big say in Pete's life?

The other vampire thought the same thing as he moodily stared at the kitchen wall above the stove. It was _his_ personal life, not Bill's. It wasn't _his_ fault that he didn't have anyone to share forever with.

"I'm sorry, Pete," Bill sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "This is just a really stressful time for everyone, especially me and Adam. Did you know he worries more about the well-being of this city than he does his own life, mine included?"

Pete was shocked. "No, I didn't."

"Well, he does," Bill sighed. For the first time he looked actually tired and worn, much like Pete did. "It's horrible, 'cause you know I love him. God, I love him so much. But it's just—it's just little things like this that really pisses me off about him. Like, he's all ready to go and kill himself for the cause, even though he knows how much it makes me worry."

Pete placed a comforting hand on Bill's, using his other to cup the lanky vampire's jaw, turning his head so that they faced each other. "It's okay," Pete said softly, stroking Bill's cold skin tenderly. "In a few months, this will all be gone, and everything will be back to normal, you and Adam included."

Bill breathed a tiny laugh, shaking his head slightly. "I doubt that," he said in the same quiet tone. He looked intently at Pete's hand on his, then back up to Pete's face. "But I don't know, you could be right… you actually are, sometimes."

It was Pete's turn to breathe a laugh, taking his hand off Bill's to run it through his long hair. They stayed silent, neither feeling obligated to say anything. Pete barely registered his thumb tracing patterns over his friend's skin where his hand still rested on his jaw until Bill moved one of his hands to curl around the nape of Pete's neck.

"You understand me," he said, leaning in to whisper in Pete's ear. "I appreciate that more than you will ever know."

Pete swallowed nervously, feeling the change of atmosphere in the room. He mimicked Bill's earlier move, curling one of his own hands around the nape of Bill's neck, tugging gently on the chestnut strands of hair. At the same time they both leaned in, their lips meeting. Bill moved his other hand, letting his long fingers brush against Pete's cheek before resting on his shoulder.

Neither was sure who did it first, but it wasn't long before their kiss deepened, both men scrabbling at the other's body while their lips moved and tongues explored new territories. Pete sorely missed the sound of heavy breathing that was associated with human kissing, but this was nice all the same. They weren't rough or gentle, but a mix of both. Bill nipped at Pete's lip, causing Pete to groan softly.

Breaking apart was hard. Bill pulled back first, looking at Pete through heavily-lidded eyes before leaning in to peck the older vampire once more. Inside, Pete was dumbfounded. Wasn't Adam going to be mad if he ever found out?

_Oh_, Pete thought, the realization suddenly hitting him. _Oh_. _Bill's mad at Adam._

Despite this, he just couldn't feel angry at his friend. He and Bill had been close for a long time. In fact, it was Pete whom Bill had first gone to when he figured out that he was gay.

Silence ensued, although it wasn't awkward. Their legs brushed occasionally, sending jolts through Pete's body, but Bill didn't look embarrassed or ashamed. He looked happy, and smiled when he told Pete that he had to go back into the living room to see what Adam and Jason had figured out. What Bill didn't tell Pete, though, was that he knew _exactly_ who had turned him that night.

Pete followed, trying his best not to look guilty when he saw that Adam was with Bill, once again, sitting impossibly close together. Jason looked up at him as he approached and sat back in the chair, but didn't say much, other than he knew a few people who could come tomorrow and help them figure out a strategy.

_Now,_ Pete thought with an inner sigh as the scene in the kitchen moments before invaded his thoughts, _I just need to get Patrick to do that with me._

----

**I really would like to thank all of you who have put this story on your favorites or alerts. It means so much to me. Kudos to everyone who has reviewed so far. :) It truthfully makes me smile when I read them. And another chapter finished! Some action should be going on soon, so stay tuned .. **


	7. I Can Make Everything Feel So Damn Good

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own. I wish that I did, but I don't. Warnings are: slash, language, violence, vampirism. This chapter was based almost entirely off the_ Moonlight_ episode, B.C. The club was changed for obvious reasons, but Black Crystal is taken straight from the episode. **There is full-on making out in this chapter. Do not read if you don't like.**

----

Over the next few days, Pete stayed at his apartment, keeping an eye out on the news that was almost constantly playing in the background. He didn't want to leave for quite a few reasons, but the main one kept him inside: watch out for any more attacks.

It wasn't for a few more days that something interesting actually reached him.

He had been in his room, getting dressed when the text had appeared on the screen of his iPhone, insistent and from Spencer Smith, whom Pete had met at Buzzwire one of the first days he'd gone looking for Patrick. He picked it up and opened the message, creasing his eyebrows as he read it.

"_There's a new drug out on the loose. Be careful, Pete: this isn't ordinary. Go check it out at Lennox Lounge."_

When he clicked the message off and set the phone down, he sat down on his bed, hoodie half on. Could Spencer be right? Because if anything, this _had_ to be a plot.

This had Nate written all over it. He ran toward the phone in the kitchen, pulling his hoodie on all the way as he went. Dialing Bill's number, Pete grabbed his car keys. When Bill answered, he hurried out an explanation, giving his friend no time to speak up.

"Listen, we've got a problem. There's been this new drug at Lennox Lounge—you know, that place up on Lakeview for the socialites—and I can bet you that Nate's planted it," he said quickly.

"Pete," Bill started before stopping, rethinking his words carefully. "You need to take it easy and stop being so paranoid. What if it's just a drug that's been recently introduced? It's not like that's impossible. Not everything has to do with Nate."

Pete sighed in frustration. "I know, but right now, with rogue vampires on the loose? You cannot tell me that it's just a coincidence. I'm gonna go get Patrick and go to Lennox." He knew that saying the last part was a mistake, but it was better to tell Bill this now than to have him find out later.

He was right; Bill was furious. "What—? Pete, are you _senile_? Bringing Patrick into the middle of all of us? He's in danger enough as it is! Don't you even—"

"Sorry Bill," Pete said, not sorry at all. "You can't change my mind."

He hung up and was out the door in seconds, hoping to God that Patrick was at work.

----

Getting to Buzzwire, Pete impatiently scanned the rows of cubicles, his stomach twisted in knots as he looked for that familiar red hair. Finally spotting Patrick in the back by the copier, he forgot all about keeping up a human appearance as he raced as fast as he could over to him.

"Patrick!" Pete breathed as he reached him. Patrick jumped a little, looking thoroughly surprised to see Pete here. "What the hell?" he hissed, sounding equal parts mad and excited. Pete gave him a quick, genuine smile before lowering his voice.

"I need you to come with me to Lennox," he whispered.

Patrick looked at him, confused. "Lennox? Isn't that that place up on—"

"Lakeview, yeah. There's that new drug circulating there and I want to go check it out."

Patrick scoffed. "You're not even a reporter, dude. What's this got to do with you?"

"Everything!" Pete said a little too loudly, thankful that there was so much noise here that it was almost drowned out, although a few heads did turn to stare. He lowered his voice as soon as they turned away before speaking again. "I-I've got a… friend who works there, and I don't want him taking any of it."

Patrick looked disbelieving, but he sighed in resignation. "Fine, whatever. But we're taking your car, if you have one, that is."

Pete laughed. "Oh, I do. Trust me."

----

Sure, Pete had a car. It was a nice one, too—2007 Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren Roadster in silver. The only thing was, he liked to drive it a little fast, and obviously Patrick wasn't used to speeding. He cowered in his seat, clutching onto the door handle as Pete sped through the city traffic. Lakeview wasn't far from here, but for Patrick that seemed state lines away.

"Goddamnit, could you slow down?" Patrick squeaked as they narrowly avoided a run-in with two black Suburbans.

"No," Pete said happily, pressing his foot down harder onto the accelerator. "The faster the better, 'Trick."

Patrick opened his mouth, ready to rebuke Pete about his speeding and that stupid nickname, but he stopped himself, taking deep breaths as the club's front appeared on the side of the road.

When Pete parked the car, Patrick got out as quickly as he could, nearly falling onto the pavement in his haste while Pete laughed loudly from the other side of the car.

Giving him a death glare, Patrick followed Pete into the lounge. Pete looked for the VIP room, seeing it secluded in a corner and obscured by a velvet rope. As he walked toward them, a bouncer appeared, blocking his path. Pete looked up at the tall, burly man, widening his eyes.

"Excuse me, but I need to get in there," he tried, getting cut off by the bouncer.

"Sorry, you're not allowed in there unless you've got a pass."

Pete didn't back down. "What kind of pass are we talking about?"

The bouncer laughed. "You've got to be kidding me, kid," he said. "If you don't know what the hell you're doing here, then I suggest that you get out before you get hurt." Pete looked back at Patrick momentarily before walking over to him, leading the smaller man by the elbow to the bar.

Without asking Patrick what his preference was, he ordered two martinis. Pete waited for their drinks to arrive before speaking. "What do you think the pass is?" he asked quietly.

Patrick shrugged, looking uneasy. "I'm not sure. It could be anything—you know how these clubs get. They choose objects or ways that you wouldn't expect so that it's harder to be VIP."

As their drinks were slid to them, Pete watched a group of trendy girls approach the bouncer, each flashing him something that he then scanned with a scanner. It was apparently the pass, because the ropes were pulled back and they walked up the stairs and disappeared into the room. Even with superhuman vision, Pete couldn't clearly make out exactly what they had flashed, other than that it was their palm.

Patrick watched him as he sipped on his drink. Pete turned back, looking around the room. "I'll be right back," he murmured, getting up.

Being careful not to get caught, Pete hid and waited by the VIP room until another group came by, this time all men. He watched them carefully, studying every move. He didn't notice it, but Patrick was doing the exact same thing from across the lounge.

He had noticed something odd about Pete; the way he walked, the way he acted. He just didn't seem… _human._ Patrick shook off that thought, rolling his eyes as he sipped his martini. He was just imagining things, that was it. Pete was perfectly human.

Meanwhile, Pete stood as still as he could, watching the door for any more possible VIP goers. He had stood there for what felt like hours when a shriek came from upstairs. The bouncer rushed in, and Pete tried to peer without getting caught. He didn't hear Patrick come up behind him, so he was genuinely surprised when Patrick's velvety voice murmured in his ear, "What's going on?"

Pete jumped, eyes wide. He looked back at Patrick. "God, don't fucking scare me like that," he snapped. Patrick glared at him, though his anger was forgotten as one of the girls rushed down and out through the front doors, tears streaming down her face. Pete stared curiously after her. He wanted to rush after her and see what she did, but now others were starting to crowd around, curious.

It was the bouncer from before who came out, phone in hand as he dialed 911. Pete knew immediately, with a sickening feeling, that someone had died in there, no doubt one of the group that they had seen walk in only minutes before.

Patrick, on the other hand, was ecstatic. This would make for a great story. A perfect headline, all written and reported in firsthand experience by him, was more than enough to boost his position in the office.

Before he could reach for the notepad he kept in his pocket, Pete ushered him out the door, telling him quietly to get to the car. Patrick huffed, but obediently did so, avoiding the growing chaos. Pete snuck into the room with a quick look around, finding the girl's body slumped at a table.

He felt a twinge of sadness. This kind of death would never come to him, no matter how much he sometimes wished that it would. It wasn't that, though, that brought on the sadness. An underlying sense of grief fueled his compassion. Too many young people made poor decisions and ended up in body bags. Pete had seen it happen over and over again without mercy.

There was a peculiar smell on the air, almost like metal. It made him feel light-headed and dizzy, and he finally knew what it was. Silver, somewhere in this room, could be the cause of her death. If it affected him in this way, it had to be that. Some vampire myths were true, such as silver being highly poisonous.

Examining the body quickly, Pete saw a small vial in the girl's hands, recognizing it almost immediately. It was a vial of Black Crystal. Pocketing it, Pete headed out the door and to the car, fully intending to head to the morgue to visit Andy.

----

Patrick shuddered as he followed Pete into the sterile environment of the hospital basement. "Do I have to stay?" he whined, looking around. He hated, absolutely _hated_ places like these. Death and sterilization just shouldn't come together in one room.

"Yes," Pete said, pulling at the sleeves of his red hoodie as he waited for Andy to appear.

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Pete snapped, not looking at Patrick. "I know that you're itching to be the first one to write up this story, and that's not going to happen, Stump. We don't need any publication on this just yet."

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a scolded child. He didn't say anything else until Andy walked in, greeting Pete enthusiastically, tossing Patrick a curious look which Pete answered with his eyes. It was too early to introduce Patrick; right now, there were bigger problems to attend to.

"Did she arrive yet?" Pete asked him. Andy nodded, heading to pull on his gloves. "Just arrived, that's why I was late. What did you say the cause of death was, again?"

"Metal poisoning," Pete answered. "She also had a vial of this." He produced the nearly empty vial from his pocket, placing it on Andy's outstretched palm. "I'm almost positive it's a factor in her death as well." As he was passing it, the scent wafted up and he gasped.

Andy asked what was wrong, and Pete murmured, so that only he could hear, "Vampire blood. That vial is full of vampire blood. That's what Black Crystal is!" His voice rose a little at the end, excited with his discovery.

He knew what was going on; now, people were taking this drug and feeling the effects of being immortal. Except, it was all the good and none of the bad, which could lead to much bigger problems, something Nate would want to happen.

"Doesn't vampire blood affect the human body somehow?" Andy asked softly as he examined the dead girl's hands with practice care.

Pete nodded, remembering back to a conversation he had had with a friend of Adam's years ago. "Yeah. It gives the user a sense of temporary invincibleness. Problems can occur when mortals use that kind of drug, per se." They made sure to keep Patrick out of this, turning their backs and lowering their voices as much as possible.

Andy made a triumphant noise before he answered. "I think I know how our vic was getting into this club."

Pete walked over to him. "How?"

Andy turned the girl's hand over, pointing to a small incision he had made in the palm. "See that? That's a microchip. Everyone who gets into there must have this planted in their hand." He pulled it out with a pair of tweezers, sticking it into a bag and giving it to Pete.

"Don't tell anyone that I gave that to you," he said quietly. "It'll be my job."

Pete waved him off dismissively, placing the bag in his hoodie pocket. "Andy, I know. We just need to get in there and get to the bottom of this as soon as possible." He turned to Patrick, telling him that he would drive him home, to which Patrick answered with a sharp, "Of course you are, dumbass. I don't have a car here with me."

He didn't see Patrick slip the forgotten vial into his pocket as they left.

----

Pete didn't see Patrick after he dropped him off at his apartment until early in the morning, though he shouldn't have seen him until the next day at the earliest. Pete was lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling and listening to his iPod. He almost didn't hear Patrick walk in, but thanks to his extremely good hearing he heard the door give its signature creak over the throbbing music.

Sitting up quickly, Pete was tensed before he recognized Patrick. He breathed out a shaky sigh of relief, smiling weakly as he forced his body to relax. "Shit, Patrick, you scared me…" he trailed off when he saw the look on Patrick's face, his outline illuminated by the hallway light.

Pete raised an eyebrow, turning off his iPod and stowing it away as he got up. That look wasn't Normal Patrick. It was the shadowed, dark look of pure, uninhibited lust.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, taking in Patrick's determined expression.

Patrick smiled, eyes half-opened as he sauntered up to Pete, pushing the vampire onto the couch and straddling his hips. Pete gasped, eyes growing wide.

"Patrick, don't," he breathed, trying to squirm away, but Patrick grabbed Pete's wrists and pinned them on the armrest above his head with surprising strength. That should have tipped Pete off immediately, the extra strength and so-sure-of-himself act. The Normal Patrick Stump never acted like this.

"I want to," Patrick whispered as he leaned down to Pete's ear, trailing his lips down Pete's jawbone, stopping at the corner of his lips. Pete whined softly, trying to move his head away, to convey any different message to his body that wasn't _this one_. The one that wasn't right, that said that he was acting solely on his infatuation with this boy and it was okay to do this when it _wasn't_.

Patrick pushed the collar of Pete's shirt down, nipping at the exposed collarbone. A tiny sliver of tattoo was exposed as Pete gasped and tilted his head back, biting his lip. Patrick pressed his hips down while he pulled Pete's collar down more to lave his tongue over the tattoo.

Pete's hands automatically reached up for the small of Patrick's back, keeping his hips pinned to his own as their lips slid over one another, Patrick biting Pete's tongue as it left his mouth.

Pete arched up, groaning as he slipped his hands under Patrick's shirt, feeling the other man shiver. "Your hands are so cold," Patrick muttered against Pete's lips. Pete laughed, moving a hand to curl in Patrick's hair, just now noticing that he didn't have a hat on.

He could do this _forever_, oh God, he _could_. Patrick was everything he wanted, anything he needed. The hard curve of Patrick's dick pressed onto his own, and Pete moaned, hands grappling at Patrick's ass to push him down further.

"What's gotten into you?" Pete asked between kisses. Patrick was breathing heavily, pupils blown from more than just lust and want and need.

"The vial," he said, kissing Pete again before moving down to his neck. Pete titled his head back, eyes screwed shut as Patrick ravished his neck with tiny kisses and hard bites. Pete couldn't even yell at Patrick for taking the blood, not like this.

Patrick's hands trailed down, skimming Pete's shirt and toying with his belt, occasionally slipping his fingers under the waistband. They kissed, hard and rough, full of lust and aching need. Patrick shifted, keeping his hips pressed down as he traced Pete's exposed tattoo on his belly with reverent fingers. Sparks shot through Pete's body, and he clutched harder at Patrick's back, digging his nails in.

"Turn me," Patrick whispered hotly, breaking away to stare at Pete. Pete gaped at him, jaw slack. Patrick kissed him again, like he refused to be separated more than necessary.

"I can't," Pete whispered back, breaking away again. "It's not right. I can't turn you." He arched up, trying to get more friction, to get Patrick to forget this ridiculous idea. He _needed_ to stop, but he couldn't. He had wanted this for so long, and here Patrick was, eager for him.

_It's just the blood,_ a tiny voice said, snapping Pete out of his lust-filled state.

Pete finally pushed Patrick off of him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the floor instead of Patrick, knowing that the sight of him now, with his kiss-swollen lips and disheveled appearance, would prevent him from saying anything that wasn't _fuck me right here_.

"Patrick…" he began, calming himself down. "You're only feeling like this because you took that drug. Being a vampire… it doesn't feel like this all the time."

"How could it not?" Patrick's voice was both small and defying. Pete rubbed at his eyes out of habit, biting his lip that still _tasted_ of Patrick. He thought carefully just how to explain this without going the wrong way.

"You're not invincible," he said. "You can still be killed, just not in so many ways as you can when you're a human."

"But I feel _everything_, Pete. Back there… you have _no_ idea how incredible that felt. Just your—your hands on my skin, I thought that I could feel every separate atom working in our bodies. I could hear every tiny breath, every tiny movement."

Pete took Patrick's face in his hands, looking into his dilated eyes for a few seconds, trying to formulate what he needed to say into words that wouldn't hurt Patrick. Pete sighed. "That's only a short-term effect," he said quietly. "I don't always feel like that. You get used to hypersensitivity."

Patrick took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "C-can I stay here?" he asked quietly.

Pete smiled, leaning over to kiss the other man softly. "Of course you can."

He never stopped once to ask how Patrick knew to ask Pete to turn him; it didn't even occur to him. He let Patrick stay on the couch while he went to his room and lay down on the bed, turning on his side as he pulled his knees to his chest. There he stayed until the sun rose and Patrick began to stir in the living room.

When he walked into the living room, he found Patrick standing at his refrigerator door, carton of orange juice clutched in his hand. The cap was off and he was peering at the contents with an unrecognizable expression on his face. Pete's stomach sunk as Patrick looked up, saw him, and whispered, "I knew it."

----

**I'm not sure that I'm happy with this chapter, but oh well. After this it'll go back to most of my original content, I think. There's still one more big episode I haven't fit into here yet.**


	8. Can I Lay In Your Bed All Day?

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings are: slash, language, vampirism. Don't read if you are not comfortable with anything. Really. This chapter is highly Pete/Patrick-centric, especially at the end.

A/N: I'm _so _sorry that I haven't updated in awhile. I was having a bit of a dry spell for a few days on this story, then I took some days off to get back into school-mode. I've been spending more time figuring out what _exactly_ is going to go on with everyone and putting a lot of background information notes onto my enV. Good things should be happening soon, I promise!

----

A small sliver of hope didn't seem to be enough to keep Pete afloat at this moment in time. He stood, frozen, staring at Patrick, who stared back just as intensely. There was no getting past the fact that Patrick had seen what was in the carton, that he had asked Pete blatantly to turn him, even if he _was_ in the throes off the effects of Black Crystal.

"Patrick—" Pete tried to explain, to no avail. He shut his mouth and hung his head, knowing that the charade was over; he was out for Patrick to see, to judge about who he was and what he did.

Patrick closed the refrigerator door, placing the blood in there before he did so, and walked over to Pete. For a moment, their eyes lingered on one another, both too scared to be the first to say something. Slowly, Patrick placed a hand on Pete's cheek, and his eyes grew softer, less accusing. He smiled, and then leaned in to gently press his lips against Pete's, giving the vampire the opportunity to push away if needed.

Pete didn't. They stayed like that, lips pressed together, until Patrick had to move back to breathe. "I'm not judging you," he finally said, dropping his hand, skimming it down Pete's arm until he grasped his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Pete looked down at their hands, smiling just as softly as Patrick had minutes before. "I came to you last night for a reason. I already had my guesses as to what you could be. I just. Didn't want to say anything."

"But I'm a vampire," Pete murmured, still looking down. "I could kill you at any given time. I-I would have turned you last night, if I had really wanted to." _Or if you had really wanted that_.

"You wouldn't have," Patrick replied. "You knew what was wrong with me and you didn't take advantage of it." Pete knew that he was right. There would be no way that he'd turn someone as glorious as Patrick. Despite the obvious lust (Pete refused to call it love, because it _wasn't_, though he knew that he had thought the word a good few times with no shame), he had better judgment than that.

The shrill ring of the phone startled them both, and Patrick laughed nervously as he jumped away from Pete, belatedly shocked. While Patrick composed himself, Pete answered the phone, his brow creasing for a moment when an unfamiliar voice answered before he remembered who was staying at this particular house.

"I forgot about you, Jason," he said. "Any news?"

While Jason spoke, Pete glanced over at Patrick, who was standing in the same place since the phone rang. "What, now?" Pete said, shocked as Jason's voice over the earpiece told him that his friends were over at Bill's house, ready to talk to him. "I'm on my way."

Clicking off the phone, he faced Patrick this time, fully catching the younger boy's attention. "Looks like we've got a couple dates with some vampires," he said, noticing Patrick's visible shiver. Giving him a sympathetic grimace, Pete tugged him out the door. "You've got no choice. If you hadn't come over here at god-knows-what-hour, I wouldn't have to baby-sit."

Patrick muttered something about not being a baby and being perfectly capable of getting home on his own, but Pete ignored him. Secretly, they both knew that they wanted nothing more than to be together right now.

----

They walked to Bill's house, seeing as it wasn't too far from Pete's apartment complex. Going down the street, Patrick shivered and wrapped his arms around himself in a fruitless effort to keep the cold air from hitting him. Pete hadn't even thought of this; Patrick would obviously be more susceptible to temperature than he would.

"Cold?" Pete asked nonchalantly. Patrick tried to shake his head, but all he did was shiver some more, eyebrows creasing in an effort not to let Pete know just how _cold_ he was. Stripping off his hoodie, Pete slipped it to Patrick, nearly forcing him to take it. "It'll keep you warm until we get to Bill's house."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick took it from him and put it on, almost sighing in relief once his bare arms were covered. They both stayed silent after that, neither knowing exactly what to say. Pete mulled things over in his head, trying to figure out just what Patrick could be thinking.

_What do you think about someone you just tried to seduce_? Pete thought. "_Hey, I'm sorry I tried to have sex with you, but it was the vampire blood making me act like that"_?

He was so otherwise preoccupied that he almost forgot where he was going and therefore almost went past Bill's doorstep. Catching himself just in time, Pete turned up the concrete walkway, Patrick hot on his heels. Again, he didn't need to knock; Jason opened the door almost immediately, as before.

Ushering them in, Pete escaped Bill and Adam, throwing quick greetings over his shoulder, as he went to stand by the kitchen door. He didn't notice Patrick standing awkwardly in the corner by himself, looking both curious and frightened, nor did he care at this moment in time. Anticipation flooded in his stomach as he waited for Jason to speak.

Before he spoke, Jason raised an eyebrow at Patrick, who then waved shyly before stammering out the explanation that he had crashed at Pete's the night before and didn't have time to go home. Jason then gave Pete a scathing look. Pete put his hands up in the air defensively. "Patrick's okay, Jason. He already knows." He berated Patrick in his mind, because saying _crashed_ and _Pete's house_ in the same sentence with Bill in the room wasn't a good idea.

Sure enough, Bill glared at him, which Pete returned derisively, not letting his friend get the upper hand. "Not _everything_," he clarified, knowing exactly what Bill was hinting at. "He only knows that I'm a vampire."

"Oh, because that's _so_ much better," Bill replied scornfully. "What about me and Adam? Does he know about us? Or Nate and his coven?"

Pete winced. It had been, surely, Nate and Chizz who had tried to kill Patrick only days before. Bill must have picked up on this because he turned to Patrick and apologized. Waving him off, Patrick returned to acting like he wasn't here. The best he could, at least.

This scene was getting way too familiar, with the crowd of worried people, all of them emanating anxiety and fear. Even the décor, which had once appealed so much, seemed to have soaked up the negativity of the inhabitants. Despair leaked into the rooms, almost as if gray had drained the colors from the entire scene. There hadn't been any troubled times that Pete had lived through that affected him so close to home.

An irritatingly loud knock vibrated on the wood of the door, and Jason rushed to open it. He spoke in a low voice before stepping back and letting two other men into the room. They were both tall and lanky with a coiled, wiry look to their thin frames.

One had shoulder-length deep brown hair and dressed in a way that was both contemporary and dabbled just a bit in vintage. The other had short, light brown hair pulled over to cover his forehead. He dressed simply, much like the man next to him, but his was completely nondescript.

"This is Singer," Jason said, gesturing to the man with the long, dark brown hair. "And this is Marshall." He slung an arm around Marshall's shoulders, grinning. Looking them over, Pete saw that they really didn't look as if they were vampires; at first glance, he wouldn't even have known it had he not smelled their distinguishable decaying scent. They were older, that much Pete could tell from the smell. Vampires didn't obtain one that strong unless they had been around for well over a hundred years.

"Odd names," Patrick spoke up thoughtfully. Everyone seemed startled for a second; he had been so quiet they had almost forgotten that he was still standing in a corner. Singer smiled at him easily, laughing quietly. He had a musical tone to his voice, much like Patrick did. "Unless you'd rather call us Alex and Alex," he started, grinning crookedly.

For the first time since they had gotten there, Patrick returned the grin, shifting nervously on his feet. "I guess not," he said.

"Confusing, isn't it?" Marshall laughed loudly, though loud for him was soft for normal ears. He had a much quieter voice, rough and smooth at the same time.

"Why don't you sit down?" Adam asked Patrick from his spot, as usual, next to Bill on the couch. "I know it can't be easy for you humans to be on your feet for long periods of time." Patrick blushed but mumbled something that sounded like an agreement and took up space on the armchair by the window.

Pete could tell that he didn't feel comfortable at all being around the people in the room, and any other time Pete would have comforted him. "Why'd you bring them here?" Pete asked Jason. He wasn't trying to be rude; he was just frustrated, and he _hated_ being confused and left out of the loop.

It was Singer who answered. "Jason said that you had a problem with a coven," he said, facing Pete and speaking evenly. "I trust that he told you who were are?" Pete shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

He was intrigued about how Singer spoke; he seemed very formal, like the people who had lived in early nineteen-hundreds. Pete himself had never really caught onto that type of speech, having been a more rebellious type himself.

"You know our names," Marshall broke in. Pete bit back a sarcastic comment. Singer smirked at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "I think what Marshall's trying to say is that you only know so little about us. You know nothing of where we came from, or how we met." He turned to his friend and rolled his eyes. Marshall stuck out his tongue childishly.

If Pete didn't know any better, he'd guess that they were together in some way. All the signs pointed to either a strong friendship, or a relationship. They didn't act like they were together, both keeping a respectable distance from each other. This alone negated most of the suspicion.

"So tell me," Pete finally said. "I'd love to get to know all about you guys and what exactly you're planning to do." Hoping he didn't come off as sarcastic, he waited patiently for either of them to tell the story. In the end, it was Marshall's soft voice that spun the two-hundred-year-old tale.

"I was born in the late eighteen-hundreds, around the time of the civil war. By the time I was five, my brother was already in the Confederate Army. He did okay in there for a bit, I suppose. I don't remember much. But I do remember the day my mom found out that he had been killed in battle." He gave a sad, bitter grin. "She was heartbroken, and my dad was embarrassed that he'd been killed at all."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Embarrassed?" he asked in disbelief, voicing the shock that everyone else, besides Singer, who had heard this story before, felt. Marshall nodded, his jaw setting in anger.

"Yes. To my dad, it was either you succeeded, or you failed. My brother failed, and that didn't set well in his book. I ran away when I was sixteen, figuring that it was better away from him than with him. Missing my mom hurt me everyday, though. She cared about me, and I still feel bad about leaving. I lived in Nevada, and I was trying to cross the desert was when I encountered the coven."

Pete was amazed at how freely Marshall spoke about his turning. For him, speaking about that had been hardest when he met Bill. Being forced away from family and friends was the worst part of being a vampire, though for Marshall, having run away prior to that, it had surely been much easier than it had been for Pete.

Continuing on, Marshall kept his voice light, betraying no emotions as he retold his story. "There had been three of them, and they boxed me in. For the last few moments, I felt desolation and extreme fear, but… it was over pretty fast," he said, and it was there that his voice finally cracked and he had to pause for a few moments to collect himself.

The silence that filled the room in those few moments was almost deafening, no one wanting to say anything, or even the wrong thing. Only Singer, seemingly immune to the testing story, rubbed Marshall's back softly to calm him down, all without saying a word.

Unconsciously, Pete edged toward Patrick. Exchanging small smiles, Patrick took Pete's hand in his own, entwining their fingers. Pete was almost caught off-guard by this display, but he composed himself and sat on the arm of the chair, resting their clasped hands on his thigh. From across the room, Adam gave him an approving nod, while Bill scowled. Pete ignored the last one, leaning into Patrick and inhaling his warm, comforting scent.

Marshall took a deep breath, twisting his head to smile quickly at Singer, who returned it, and then turned back to finish. "I managed to live for awhile on coyotes and other animals, but the day finally came that there wasn't enough in the desert for me to live on. I had been walking into the nearest town when I passed a ditch, smelling blood.

"Of course, I was still suffering from the uncontrollable urges of newborn vampires, and I jumped down into the ditch, fully intending to finish off whatever was down there. I had just jumped into the ditch when I saw a boy, no older than eighteen or nineteen, bleeding heavily. Some human instinct took over me, then, and I suddenly felt that I need to save him, do _something_. The vampire part said differently. I overcame that through minutes of coaching myself and carried him all the way into town, trying to find a practitioner's building.

"It took a bit, but I found one, and in perfect time, too, because his breathing was slowing down," Marshall said, and Singer finished the tale for him. "The doctor couldn't save me, and it was Marshall who made the decision to turn me to keep me alive, in a way. When I woke up after those three horrible days, we ran off, living in many towns before settling around here, keeping out of sight."

Adam, his voice quiet, said, "Wow. That's rough."

Marshall nodded. "But that was a long time ago. Singer and I have lived together fine for a long time." He looked toward Bill, who still was staring at Pete with a look of loathing etched onto his features. "What is it you need us to do, Bill?" he asked, saying it a few more times before he fully had his attention.

Snapping his head up, Bill's face softened as he focused on Marshall and Singer. "We need you to see if you can find out exactly where Nate's recruiters are stationed in the city. I can sense that Nate's waiting for us to make the next move."

Pete scoffed. "How can you tell that, Bill?"

Bill glared at him, his upper lip curling. "I just can. Shut up, Pete, and mind your own fucking business." Pete returned the glare suspiciously, teeth bared and eyes going slightly red. Patrick looked at him, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Quickly, he tugged his hand out of Pete's, moving over as far as he could in the chair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete noticed all of this, but he kept up his staring match with Bill. This was the first time that he had gotten really angry at Bill. Enough, anyway, to trigger the shift to vampire mode, as Adam so eloquently put the change where all human senses were pushed back in the mind and the vampire inside took over.

Jason looked back and forth between them, taking charge and interceding by moving into their lines of vision, blocking them from seeing each other. Still angry, Pete looked up at Jason and snarled, eyes still slowly shifting to blood red.

"Cool it, Pete," Jason commanded. "Bill did nothing wrong. He's just making a guess."

Pete hissed, a sound which Bill returned with earnest. He didn't believe either of them, but he could just be paranoid. Who weren't these days? It took him awhile to calm down and let his body unwind, and once the haze in his mind cleared, he fully noticed Patrick near-cowering at the far side of the chair.

"Oh, shit, 'Trick," Pete said, reaching a hand out to stroke Patrick's arm. Patrick flinched but didn't shy away when Pete's cold fingers touched his arm. "I'm sorry." Patrick shook his head, trying to downplay Pete's apology like it was nothing, though they both knew that it was something.

Singer and Marshall looked at each other. "We should really get going," Marshall said after silent deliberation. "We'll keep in touch with you, Jason, and call you if anything with Nate comes up, okay?" Jason nodded and the pair left, their exit slightly quieter than their entrance.

"I'm sorry, Pete," Bill said, and briefly Pete wondered if there was some apologizing plague running around, but he rolled his eyes and apologized as well, thinking that just maybe, this time deserved an apology. Adam looked pleased at his boyfriend's actions and lovingly stroked Bill's side, much to his brother's displeasure.

"I'm out," Jason said, already turning toward the door to avoid his brother's PDA. "Catch you later, Adam, Bill. And good luck, Pete." He looked at Patrick as he said this, and Patrick blushed, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Pete chuckled and placed his hand on Patrick's thigh, feeling the younger man jerk slightly at his touch. He was pleased at how well he could affect him.

Patrick glared at him, but Pete could see in his eyes that there was a strong undertone of sheer want, something so powerful that Pete felt it rip right through his body. They had come so close—too close—to having sex, and with Patrick still human, the risk was too high for them to even attempt it. It hadn't been legit anyway, with Patrick under the influence of Black Crystal.

"They don't talk much, do they?" Bill asked nonchalantly, causing Pete and Patrick to break their eye contact. Pete huffed at his friend, feeling the hot sweep of anger return as Patrick asked, "Who doesn't?"

Bill didn't bother to look at Pete, a self-satisfied look on his face. Instead, he focused his attention on Patrick. "Singer and Marshall. I know that we can trust them, but Singer is just too quiet for my liking. What do you think, Adam?" The tone of his voice switched to sweet and honeyed when he said Adam's name, and one of his hands curled around the other man's neck, while the other went to Adam's thigh, mirroring Pete's earlier move and placing his hand there.

Adam swallowed and went rigid at Bill's touch. "I-I don't know," he stammered out. "They sound al-alright to me." Pete rolled his eyes and got up, walking toward the door without a word of goodbye. Patrick scrambled to get up and follow Pete, saying quick thanks and goodbyes to Bill and Adam on his way out.

"Do you always have to be so damn polite?" Pete asked angrily as they started back down the sidewalk. Patrick didn't hesitate when he said, "Yes, and do you always have to be such a fucking dick?"

Pete didn't answer for a moment. "Bill brought it on himself," he said. "He thinks he's so high and mighty because he can have a boyfriend and I can't." Aware of how ridiculously childish he sounded, he stole surreptitious glances in Patrick's direction as they walked, hoping that he didn't just make an incredibly stupid move. The only thing he gathered was that Patrick seemed deep in thought.

With the evening sun reflecting off Patrick's fair hair and blue-green eyes, Pete couldn't help but stare past the point of glancing. "Why was Bill doing that to you?" Patrick asked so late that Pete momentarily forgot what he had been complaining about. "Gloating about Adam in front of you, I mean," he clarified when he caught the confused glance Pete gave him.

"Oh." Pete blinked against the sun's bright glare, watching his breath puff out in front of his mouth as the cold temperature began to settle in for the night. "I guess because of… of you." Waiting with bated breath, Pete tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and nearly went sprawling when Patrick abruptly stopped walking.

"Me?" Patrick asked incredulously. Pete nodded sheepishly, keeping his face devoid of emotion. "Yeah… I was kind of trying to keep it from you, I guess. It's nothing really personal, 'Trick. I mean, we can't exactly do the horizontal mambo or anything, but—" he was cut off when Patrick grabbed his shoulders and spun him around so that they faced.

"I don't care," Patrick said breathily, keeping his hands on Pete's shoulders. "I don't give a shit what we do, as long as you're not lying to me. _Tell me_ you're not."

"I'm not," Pete said, hands moving to rest at Patrick's hips.

"Good," was the last thing Patrick said before he pressed his lips to Pete's, fingertips caressing Pete's cheeks while they pressed close together. They only broke apart only when Patrick complained of the cold, to which Pete gave a braying laugh, something he hadn't done in months.

As they walked home, Patrick hummed under his breath, slipping his hand into Pete's back pocket. The vampire grinned and wrapped an arm around Patrick's waist, asking, "What are you humming?"

Patrick returned his grin as he sang softly, "_You don't have to cover up how you feel when you're in love, I'll always know I'm not enough to even make you think_."

"I didn't know you could sing," Pete said, surprised at how melodic and strong Patrick's voice was. He didn't comment on the song. No words were really needed for that. Patrick shrugged, dismissing off the compliment.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he said suggestively, winking. Pete's grin got wider, if even possible, so that he resembled the Cheshire cat from _Alice in Wonderland._

"Well, we've got awhile," Pete said, but Patrick shook his head. "Not now, Pete. Not with Nate out there." He shuddered with something much more than cold.

Pete sighed in resignation. "You're right," he said glumly, though he felt the same fear that Patrick did. "We've got to go back to Lennox tomorrow night and see if, with the chip Andy gave me, we can get in."

"What—? _We_?" Patrick gasped out. "There's no way I'm going back there."

"Too bad," Pete said as they rounded the corner of his apartment complex. "You're stuck with me, so that means you're coming too. Besides, getting in there could be knocking down another obstacle that's in the way of Nate's trail."

Patrick sighed, retracting his hand from Pete's pocket. "Fine," he said reluctantly. Pete smiled and moved his arm from Patrick's waist to his shoulders, giving him a squeeze before kissing the top of his hat. "That's my Patrick," Pete said as they stepped inside.

A few feet away, hidden in the bushes, red eyes glowed out into the steadily-dimming light. With a flourish, a cell phone glowed bright as pale fingers rapidly dialed a number. In a deep, raspy accented voice, the figure growled, "They're going to be at Lennox tomorrow."

"Good job, Michael," a smooth, dangerous voice replied. Chizz grinned, the gesture revealing pointed canines. "Sure thing, Nate." He snapped the phone shut, and with a noise that could have been coined as no more than a rustle of wind in the leaves, he was gone, an ominous silence hanging in his wake.

----

**Wow. This was definitely longer than intended. I just couldn't find an ending in this chapter. Sort of like 21, haha, except Jim Sturgess isn't here to make it better.**


	9. When We Met, I Was On My Back

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings are: slash, language vampirism. Don't read if you're uncomfortable with any of that. Read and review, please. :) I've been writer's blocked so bad on this story lately and I can't stand it, so there might be big gaps between installments for awhile.

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"Don't you have your own home to go to?" Pete asked as he switched on the overhead light in his apartment, tossing his keys onto the table by the door. Patrick snorted and stripped off Pete's borrowed hoodie, throwing it across the back of the couch. "Home? Why would I go there when you're here?" He batted his eyes in Pete's direction.

Now it was Pete's turn to snort. "You're full of shit," he said, walking into the kitchen. It had been awhile since he had anything to drink, and it was beginning to take its toll. A brittle, fragmented sense of deprivation had begun to creep its way through his veins and steadily crawl up to his brain. It wouldn't be much longer before instinct took over.

Pete shivered at the thought, pulling the orange juice container from the depths of the Frigidaire, not noticing Patrick watching him warily with calculating eyes. Not bothering with a glass, Pete took a few careful, replenishing gulps, being careful to just take as much as he needed. Andy had said, after all, that he wasn't sure when he could get more blood for him.

Far below, on the dark streets, police sirens wailed and added to the anxiety that already cloaked the two men like a smothering blanket. While Pete put the container back in the refrigerator, he thought to Patrick, who was still standing outside the kitchen, watching him curiously.

In all his life, Pete had never met anyone quite as fascinating as him. Sharp-tongued and short-tempered, Patrick was nothing short of a tiny ginger hurricane when he wanted to be.

But what could they be, exactly? Just entering this zone with Patrick, being this close and open, was dangerous, always setting off red flags whenever they touched, intentional or accidental.

Pete knew—felt it in his bones—that Patrick was _it_. The man he wanted to wake up to every day, the city light shining off his peacefully sleeping face, who he wanted to see every night, when the lights were dim and the sheets were fisted into sweaty, unintelligible clumps. The man he wanted to, possibly, walk down the aisle with.

Of course, that could all happen if only he were _human_. Patrick noticed his troubled expression and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, leaning close enough that he could rest his chin on the hand on Pete's shoulder. "Don't worry," he whispered.

_If only I didn't have to,_ Pete thought sadly. Instead of speaking his fears aloud, he grasped Patrick's wrists gently, maneuvering so that they could both see each other's faces, see what the other was thinking. Without a word spoken, Patrick flipped their positions and pressed Pete against the wall of the living room, kissing him soft at first, and then gaining passion as it got longer.

Moving his hands down, Pete brushed his palm over the front of Patrick's jeans, hearing him gasp into his mouth and whimper when Pete moved his feather-light touch away. With a swift, delicate tango, their tongues met, retracting as Patrick bit Pete's lip, pulling away just enough that Pete had to move his head forward. Pete moaned and tightened his grip ever so slightly on Patrick's hips.

As Patrick's fingers gripped Pete's belt, Pete finally moved back, shaking his head. Breathing heavily, Patrick gave him a wounded look. "We can't," Pete breathed as a way of explanation. "It's too dangerous."

No matter how many falling stars Pete wished upon, it just _couldn't_ happen. Patrick may have given all the signs that he too wanted nothing more, but Pete knew that it was all too immoral. The tiniest slip-up could either kill Patrick, or worse, turn him into something he'd regret.

They were going in circles, Pete knew, stuck in a roundabout of worries that, in a way, held no more meaning than a grain of sand far away from the beach. Brushing past Patrick, Pete went and picked up the remote, turning on the TV to find some way to try not to focus on the problem at hand.

Patrick looked at him with a hurt gleam in his eyes, but Pete ignored it and the almost tangible pangs of guilt now swirling in his stomach like a turbulent storm.

"You can't ignore me when I'm right here." Patrick's hurt voice was almost overpowered by the volume on the TV, despite him having not raised it above a hoarse whisper.

Pete swallowed, leaning against the back of his couch. He couldn't bear to look at Patrick right now. In all truth, he was afraid of what he'd see in his face, like maybe there'd be some shard of just how much he was ripping Patrick's heart apart visible for him.

"I know," Pete finally whispered, eyes burning with tears that would never shed. "I'm trying so hard, but I just fucking _can't_."

"Then don't try," Patrick whispered, moving toward the couch. "Don't make this worse for you, for _us_."

"I could kill you, Patrick. _Kill_ you."

Patrick stroked a gentle finger down Pete's cheek, allowing the vampire to lean into his tender touch and close his eyes with a sigh. "Then so be it," Patrick whispered, just loud enough to be audible, though to Pete it sounded amplified tenfold.

Almost instantaneously, Pete sat up straight and pushed Patrick away with a fierce gleam in his eyes. "Don't you dare say that," he growled dangerously. "Don't you even _think_ about that possibility, Patrick, because you don't want this life."

"Who says that I don't?" Patrick shot back, eyes narrowing.

"God_damn it_, Patrick!" Pete shouted, standing up in a flurry of rage. He clenched his teeth and tried as hard as he could to keep his voice to a reasonable level, because getting in trouble with his neighbors then possibly having the police come to his apartment wasn't a good thing. He tried to blink back the fury that was swimming in his eyes with little effect, and he continued with as much coherency and adequacy as possible.

"How could you even think that?" Pete asked, seeing in front of him not Patrick Stump, but a daredevil with no values of life or death and right from wrong. He wasn't seeing the man he possibly loved, but a potential victim to this curse. "How could you even want to live life like this, being without your family, your friends, a normal fucking life?"

"You."

Patrick's answer was so simple that it threw Pete off guard for a moment. Jaw hanging open mid-rant, Pete could only stare as Patrick gave him a cool, defiant and very sure glare back. Deep down inside him, Pete knew that even though he really should be saying something to negate Patrick's statement, it was also what they _both_ wanted, and denying that just seemed downright crazy.

Being at this fork in the road wasn't easy. After almost a century of solitude, loving felt _good_, as if a part of him that had been missing found its way back. There was no doubt that he'd turn Patrick in a nanosecond, but he also liked having a human lover, someone with a pulse and warm skin that made _him_ feel warmer. All that was dangerous thinking, though, and he couldn't do that.

Pete finally shook his head and answered, "I'm not worth going through that."

Patrick opened his mouth, but then shut it, sighing in annoyance and resignation. "I'm not fighting with you over this, Pete. You know, and I know, that this is the best relationship you've had in years, and I'm _accepting_ of who you are. Bill's attitude toward us is getting in the way of your judgment."

Maybe, at another time, Pete would have defended his friend, but now all he did was bite his lip in silent agreement. Bill _was_ getting a little too mother hen lately. But even if Patrick was right—which he was—Pete couldn't afford to have him around all the time. It didn't matter that Patrick already knew his big secret. It was keeping said secret under control that worried him.

Patrick didn't know his past, didn't know exactly how Pete had gotten turned, and Pete wanted to keep it that way for as long as humanely possible. If he thought that the life of vampires was all glitz and glamour, Pete wasn't going to be the one to tell him otherwise. Let him find out on his own.

_Shit, the chip_, Pete thought suddenly, eyes widening. Patrick noticed this, but before he could speak up, Pete moved with inhuman speed to the table by the door where he had thrown his keys. In another millisecond, he grabbed Patrick and they were out the door, heading speedily down the stairs to the parking garage. Pete silently thanked God—or whoever was up there—that he still had the chip in his pocket.

"Where are we going?" Patrick asked as they were heading down into the dark confines of the garage. His voice went up a bit, teetering on the pinnacle of whining.

Pete rolled his eyes but said, "Lennox," as his Mercedes came into view. Untangling the keys from his pocket, he unlocked the car and barely gave Patrick time to get in before he was speeding out of the garage and into the cool night air.

"Jesus, slow the fuck down," Patrick snapped, grasping onto the door handle with one hand while he struggled to buckle his seatbelt with the other. "Sorry, Rickster," Pete said cheerfully, tapping the gas pedal a little more and hearing the engine growl as it sped up. "We've got a schedule."

Patrick practically growled. "There is no fucking schedule," he said through clenched teeth, knuckles going white as he gripped the handle harder. "Even though you may not be able to die, I can, and I really love breathing right now. And _fuck you_, my name is _Patrick_."

Pete rolled his eyes but obediently slowed down, seeing Patrick loosen up out of the corner of his eye. "Happy?" he asked sarcastically.

"Very much so, yes."

"I never knew you had such a dislike for names, Pattycakes."

Pete bit his lip to keep his laughter in as Patrick's glare turned mutinous. "I hate nicknames when they're _stupid and pointless_. 'Trick, maybe, I can understand. But if you _dare_ call me anything other than that, I will personally make sure that your next shower turns out to be a nozzle full of silver."

"Oh, don't be so testy, Patrick," Pete replied, grinning widely. "You're too amazing for that."

Patrick sighed and shook his head. "You're such a kid. I wonder about you, Pete."

"Wonder away, then." Pete turned the volume knob on the radio and saw Patrick almost instantly relax. _Good_, he thought. _Because he definitely won't be happy about what I'm going to do next_.

The bend in the road gave birth to the club's front, and Pete swiftly turned into the parking lot with seemingly only a slight twist of the steering wheel and found a space and found a space, shutting the engine off once they were perfectly inside the lines. In a way, Patrick thought, Pete's near-perfect ability to drive was as annoying as it was amazing.

"Hold out your palm," Pete said to Patrick as he pulled out the chips and a syringe. Patrick's eyes widened as he watched Pete pull them out of their plastic bags, and dropping them into a vial of saline. Next he dipped the syringe tip into the vial and pulled up some of the liquid.

"No way," Patrick said. "No way am I letting you anywhere near me with that needle."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Stump. It won't hurt."

"Says the vampire."

Pete glared at him, grabbing his palm with a blurred movement, gently jabbing the needle down into the skin. Patrick balked and tried to jerk away, but Pete's iron grip tightened on his wrist.

As quickly as he could, Pete pulled away and reloaded the vial, this time injecting it into his own palm. "See, that didn't hurt too much, did it?" he asked conversationally while he put away the needle and remaining bits of the chips.

"Yes, it did," Patrick said heatedly, rubbing the skin of his palm gently with his other hand.

"Drama queen," Pete taunted.

Patrick bristled, opening his mouth to throw back a taunt, but Pete opened the door and got out, giving the other man no choice but to follow. He trailed a few steps behind the vampire, still internally fuming. Pete, however, was grinning broadly at Patrick's childish antics.

Deep down, Patrick knew that Pete was just trying to get under his skin, but that didn't quell the flame that was burning red-hot in him. Pete turned back once more, eyes dark and taunting, and there was barely a trace of humor in his face and voice when he said, with falsified care, "Keeping up back there okay, baby?"

Patrick nearly growled, clenching his fists so hard his nails dug into his palm. Pete smirked as he heard Patrick's heartbeat speed up, and Patrick felt his temper snap again.

"Fuck you," he spat, feeling the sharp grate of anger clench at his insides. Pete didn't look back, but Patrick knew that he had heard him. If Pete wanted to be a whiny bitch, then so be it. Patrick still stayed a few feet behind Pete when they arrived at the door.

The same bouncer was there, looking as big and foreboding as ever. He didn't seem to recognize them, which was a good thing. Pete turned around fluidly, stepping back a bit to catch Patrick by the wrist and pull him, despite his flailing, up with him, keeping his grip tight on the other male's wrist to prevent him from getting away.

"We're here to get into the VIP section," Pete said coolly, exposing both their palms for the bouncer's inspection. Giving them a quizzical look, the bouncer quickly scanned their palms with a scanner and unclipped the velvet rope to let them through, all without a word.

Pete grabbed a cocktail off a tray from a scantily-clad waitress as she sauntered by. He didn't offer Patrick one, so he must still have been pissed. With a huff, Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. "Thanks for asking, dickwad."

Pete shrugged. "It's not like I'm going to drink it, so have at it."

Patrick was still angry, but he took the drink anyway. They started up the steps that led to the VIP room silently.

"Maybe you should get a drink to have something to do so you don't seem so… suspicious," Patrick suggested. He bit his tongue at saying _creepy_ because he figured Pete was mad enough.

Without a word, Pete grabbed a drink off a table, ignoring a squawk of protest from the way-too-drunk-to-be-here blonde and walked away.

Pete scanned the room, holding the stolen drink in his hand as he watched every patron carefully as they mingled and drank. Surely one of them was the vampire causing all of this trouble…

_Oh, how stupid_, Pete thought. _If that were even the cause, I'd know, and Nate wouldn't be that stupid in the first place anyway_. Glancing at Patrick, Pete saw, out of the corner of his eye, someone whom he had believed to be dead and gone by now.

He did a double-take, just to be sure, and yeah, he was still there. Pete's eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth as he took in the familiar lean, slim figure of Mikey Way, the boyfriend that had cheated on him with some slum named Frank from New Jersey years ago.

Patrick felt Pete go rigid beside him, and he followed his narrowed gaze to where a tall, skinny man was standing with practiced ease, rum and Coke in hand.

Patrick watched him for a few seconds, seeing how he gestured wildly to the woman that he was talking to, making her laugh and roll her eyes at the same time. Pete's grip tightened on his glass, hard enough that he caused the base and stem to shatter.

A few people looked in their direction as Pete let the remaining shards of glass fall to the floor; remaining inconspicuous enough that no one seemed to notice that it was him and not just a barkeep.

"Good job," Patrick said dryly as Pete shook off droplets of alcohol that still lingered on his skin. Pete didn't bother with a retort or even a haughty _fuck you_. Instead, he deserted the mess and walked purposefully over to Mikey. Patrick debated for a few seconds before following Pete. He was curious as to why this man's presence bothered Pete so much.

Patrick arrived just as Pete said, "Hello, Mikey," in a voice that betrayed nothing. He kept his eyes carefully blank. Mikey turned to Pete and grinned widely. "Pete! It's been too long."

There was an inflection in his jovial voice that suggested that it _had_ been too long—in the decades, perhaps, not just a few years. Pete took a deep breath to keep from lashing out. "It has been. Where was that kid I had seen before? Frank, was it?"

Mikey just shrugged, not seemingly riled by Pete's words. "He ran off a while back. But luckily, I found Alicia here"—he put his arm around the girl's shoulder, leaning in to kiss her cheek while she giggled— "and we're getting ready to settle down sometime soon."

"Oh, really?" Pete asked with fake sincerity.

"Mhmm." Mikey nodded, either not noticing Pete's lack of friendliness or just not caring.

"Well, for your sake, I hope she can _live_ with you forever."

Pete didn't allow him to reply back; he stalked off, Patrick hot at his heels. He ordered another cocktail and downed this one almost as soon as it was sent to him.

Patrick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Calm down there, Pete," he said. "Someone has to drive us home." He had meant for the last part to sound joking, but Pete didn't say anything, just stared off into space.

"What was that all about?" Patrick asked, making his voice commanding enough that Pete would have to snap out of it and answer. Pete did, in a way, but his answer was short and simple and not at all what Patrick wanted. "He was an old boyfriend, and I was stupid enough to believe that he'd be gone. Apparently he met a vampire along the way."

"What about his girlfriend? Isn't she one?"

Pete shrugged. "I don't know and I don't care. If Travis and Ryland think I'm too chummy with the humans, they should take a look at Mikey, and _then_ come and get Gabe to blame me for trying to out all of the vampires of Chicago. It's kind of obvious that he's around the humans too much."

Truthfully, Patrick didn't know what to say after that. He hadn't really ever encountered a past boyfriend with someone they were going to marry, or even a boyfriend that had cheated on him. Hell, he didn't really _have_ any past boyfriends. He wasn't one to date, and even then, he had dated girls since he was a teenager, only switching to boys once he realized girls just _didn't do anything_ for him.

"I'm sorry." Patrick kept his voice low, but Pete heard it. One corner of his lips turned upward in a smile. "Nothing to be sorry about, 'Trick. It's not your fault Mikey Way is a total tool."

Patrick barked a laugh, and Pete shivered. _Shit,_ why did Patrick's voice have to be so sweet and harmonious? Not caring if anyone was watching, Pete gently grasped Patrick's chin and titled his face upward, leaning in to press their lips together for a few seconds. Patrick's hands automatically went to his waist.

"But you're not," Pete said softly once they broke away. "I don't—I don't even know how to say that you're not like _anyone_ else."

"Then don't," Patrick said, laughing. "Don't even bother to talk at all." They went back together, almost like they had never been apart, and for a few moments, they even managed to forget the world and all their problems. When this happened—when they melded together like true lovers, when it was just their breath, tongues, lips, teeth—it was like something new entirely.

It was in the middle of this make-out session that Pete realized, _we're here for something entirely not pertaining to what we're doing now_, and pulled away with quite a bit of reluctance from Patrick. Before the other man could protest, Pete said, "The chips, remember? We're here to see about the Black Crystal."

Patrick gave in with a sigh. Pete was right; they were on duty, not to be making-out in public, although, that was kind of nice… he shook his head, mentally slapping himself for getting so easily distracted by someone he shouldn't even be doing this with.

The problem was there didn't seem to be any traces of the Black Crystal that was, just a few days ago, causing such a stir in the media. No matter where they both looked, no one seemed to be ingesting the black substance that came in a vial. It was just like it had… disappeared.

"Or Nate took it off the market," Pete said, as if he had been reading Patrick's thoughts. "He knew that we were on to him. Maybe even that girl had been on to him in some way and he got rid of her the only way that he knew how. "

"By killing her," Patrick finished, eyes widening as he processed these new thoughts. "She was killed by an overdosing of silver, right?" Pete nodded, and Patrick went on, "So maybe she was keeping Nate company, like—like an escort."

"But Nate has Chizz," Pete pointed out.

Patrick nodded, mulling it over. "Maybe so… but possibly, he could have had her on the side, you know, as like, entertainment or something. And maybe, after awhile, she had started to piece together the inner workings of Nate's behavior: no eating, no sleeping, abnormal strength. Nate caught onto her and brought her and her friends here with passes and followed them, ultimately spiking her vial with enough silver to kill her."

Pete was shocked at how much thought Patrick put into this. He had opened his eyes to things that were so obvious that Pete didn't get them, stuck on obvious vampire tactics and not subtle, serial killer ones. If they hadn't just made out in front of everyone already, Pete would have kissed him again.

Seeming to catch onto what Pete was thinking, Patrick smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Realizing I'm not as dumb as you once thought?" he asked.

Pete snorted but discreetly slipped his hand into Patrick's. "Maybe so, maybe not," he replied slyly, squeezing their fingers together gently.

They left the lounge together, Pete hoping that the chips could come out with Andy's help. When they got into the car, Patrick leaned over and kissed Pete's cheek. Surprised, Pete placed his fingertips where Patrick's lips had been just seconds before, giving him a quizzical look.

"I-I just wanted to ask you something," Patrick said in reply, voice going from the sureness that it had held earlier to shy and nervous. "Yeah?" Pete said, starting the engine and backing out, managing to go the speed limit on Patrick's behalf, though it left his foot twitching on the accelerator.

Patrick swallowed. "I was wondering if—if I could, maybe, move in with you."

----

**Yeah, so bad ending. But really, if you look at it, Pete would be completely and utterly nervous about Patrick moving in because, hello, he's a vampire, and Patrick's obviously not. Sense drama? I do. :) Reviews are lovely, yes.**


	10. To Hands Between Legs

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings are: Slash, language, vampirism. Don't read if you don't like any of that. This chapter gets a little graphic in the way of boytouching, so I'm raising the rating to M. After this it'll be a couple chapters before it gets graphic again. So if you are not comfortable, I definitely suggest you don't read that part or this in general. Reviews are totally awesome, fyi.

btw, did anyone get to hear the new Fall Out Boy song, Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet? I hope you have. :) That song is so amazing!

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The last part was nearly a whisper, but it was enough that Pete slammed on the brakes out of shock. "W-What?" he stuttered. Patrick's eyes widened but he repeated himself. "And you might want to start moving again. People are getting restless."

It took a few seconds to get that he meant the car. "Shit," Pete cursed as he heard the car horns blaring at him for the first time. He eased up on the brakes and pressed the accelerator again as he tried to shake off the shock he felt at Patrick's words. "M-move in with me?" he parroted in disbelief. Patrick nodded, wringing his hands together on his lap. "Patrick, we—we can't do this."

"Why not?" The hurt in Patrick's voice almost killed Pete—again.

Pete swallowed as his grip tightened on the steering wheel almost enough to make it snap. "Because I'm a _vampire._ You're not, and do you have any idea how dangerous being around me is?" _Not to mention there's the possibility that I couldn't restrain myself from stopping at just kissing you,_ he thought.

"I _do_ know, Pete. I do, and it's not stopping me. I'm asking you this because it's what I want. Have you realized that you're the only person that I feel safe around?" Patrick said desperately. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, a move that Pete saw out of the very corner of his eye.

That alone—that little, obscene-but-yet-not gesture—made him inhale and force himself not to say anything that could jeopardize them both.

"I—understand," he said slowly. "But it's not about that. I'm concerned—frightened, actually—about the possibilities. Right now, it's hard enough for me to restrain myself even when you're with me for a few hours. But twenty-four? That—that's asking too much."

Patrick's nostrils flared but he said nothing. Pete noticed and he tried as best as he could to placate him. "Not that I wouldn't love it," he amended quickly. "Just hear me out."

"Oh, I'm hearing you out," Patrick said haughtily. "The problem is I'm hearing things that I don't _want_ to hear."

"Patrick, now you're just being childish."

"Am I?" Patrick's voice rose a little. "_Am I_?"

There was that little change building around him, almost a static tension crackling in the air. Pete could feel it coming before it even hit. Pete knew that part of the reason he and Patrick stayed together was because of their equally bad tempers. "'Trick, calm down—" Pete started, but he trailed off, knowing immediately that anything else that he said or tried to say would be futile.

Patrick set his jaw but didn't say anything else. Pete sighed and resigned to driving in silence, his foot still itching to press down harder on the accelerator, but with Patrick like he was… well, it just wasn't a good idea.

----

Despite the two not talking, Pete took Patrick back home with him and the latter didn't object, just stayed moodily quiet and didn't answer to Pete whenever he talked to him. Heaving another long sigh, Pete parted from Patrick and headed to his room once he did his nightly check to make sure that everything was in its proper place, shutting off the lights and laying some blankets and a pillow out for Patrick on the couch.

He didn't notice when Patrick blinked tear-heavy eyes as he picked up the blanket that lay on the couch, pressing it to his face, glasses and all, and sobbed quietly into it until he fell asleep.

----

It was about three A.M. when Pete first heard the quiet moaning.

He had been sitting on his bed, writing feverishly for hours, the dim bedside lamp barely putting out any sort of incandescent light. Earlier, for a few brief moments, Pete's thoughts had flickered back to when he was a boy and his mother would always tell him that reading with just a small candle in the middle of the night would destroy his eyes when he got older.

_Well Mom_, he had thought, _here I am, older, and my eyes aren't any worse. They're actually better, even._

Pete had only smiled briefly. In all truth, he hated to think of his family, of his human past. Those memories weren't exactly what he would call pleasant, especially since he became a vampire in an unexpected turn of unfortunate events.

Back to the present, he was sure that he wouldn't have heard the moans had he been human. They were soft, keening noises that lilted and whined as they got higher and more urgent. Almost immediately, Pete was up and at the door, pushing it open with the stealth that could only come with years of patience.

In the darkness of the apartment that was vaguely lit with the crescent of the moon shining in from the large windows on the left side of the room and from the windows of other buildings of the Chicago skyline, Pete could see the top of the couch, its back facing toward him, and hear the rustling of the blanket as Patrick thrashed in his sleep. How could he, who had been angry at Patrick only hours before, even be thinking these thoughts, much less eavesdropping on such an embarrassing private moment?

He battled in his mind over right and wrong, lust from rationality. He could feel his jeans tightening as he listened to Patrick's moans and whimpers, and he didn't get moving until he heard his name in a pitched and breathy voice that was yet still pinched with the grogginess of sleep.

Hesitantly, Pete darted into the room and stood uncertainly at the edge of the couch, watching Patrick with intent curiosity and arousal. To Pete, Patrick was the most beautiful creature on the planet right at this very moment. The warm woolen blanket that Pete had laid out for him was pooled at his ankles, showing very obviously the tent in his boxers.

Pete took a deep breath, swallowing hard as he contemplated what to do. On one hand, his whole body ached to toss trepidation aside and wake Patrick up and finish him off consciously, and on the other hand he wanted to walk away and forget that this all happened.

_Shit_, Pete thought as Patrick gave another breathy moan. _I can't just walk away from this._

With slow, jerky movements, Pete sat down as lightly as he could on the couch next to Patrick's thighs, running a hand through the other man's sweaty ginger hair. In his sleep, Patrick shuddered and groaned softly, murmuring Pete's name again, this time adding a breathy _please_.

Pete bit his lip and brushed his hand down farther, past Patrick's warm, sweat-soaked belly to the waistband of his boxers. It was only Patrick's unconscious lifting of his hips that egged Pete on further. Squirming a bit, Pete pushed up Patrick's thin shirt and pushed past the cotton material of the waistband and wrapped his fingers around Patrick's dick.

Sucking in an unneeded breath, Pete stroked up and curved his palm around the leaking head, trailing back down, putting more pressure in his grip as he reached the base.

Almost simultaneously they both groaned, Pete using his other hand to palm himself through his jeans. Patrick, eyes still closed, moaned as Pete repeated his ministrations, picking up the pace slightly.

Pete watched Patrick with something akin to reverence in his eyes, and he longed for Patrick to wake up, stare at him and still egg him on, to have the ability to pull down Patrick's boxers and not have the nagging feeling that he was making a big mistake. The little voice in the back of his head reminded him that that wasn't right, that it was too _dangerous_.

"Fuck," Pete hissed through clenched teeth, repeating the word for what had to be the hundredth time that night. "_Patrick_. I wish that you were awake right now. I want you to see me like I can see you."

He could tell that Patrick was close by the urgent way his hips met every stroke, how his hands unconsciously clenched onto the material of the couch, knuckles turning white. "Pete," he said quietly, speech slightly garbled. "_God_, just _fuck me_."

Pete eyes widened and he stopped pulsing his fingers on Patrick's dick for a few seconds. Those few words…

"Yes," he whispered back, knowing full well what he was doing. "I will, if we only _could_."

Patrick came a few seconds later with a loud groan that seemingly reverberated in Pete's chest. Pete left before Patrick could wake up and jerked off in his room, the image of Patrick asleep, panting and groaning for him stuck in his mind.

----

When Pete came out of his room the next morning, neither mentioned anything of it, although Pete could see it in Patrick's eyes that he had some inkling of what had gone on last night.

Pete bit his lip whenever Patrick brushed up against him, and not once did they kiss each other. He wasn't sure if this was because Patrick was still mad at him or if he had another reason to keep space between them, but Pete did not like this one bit.

By noon, Pete wanted to rip his hair out and scream out of sheer frustration, but luckily, a call from the long-forgotten Bill Beckett saved him from attempting that. He was still a little mad at the other vampire, but since there was nothing else to do this day, and he still had to talk about the news with Mikey, Pete told Patrick in passing that they were going over to Bill's for a little while.

Before they left, Pete called up Adam's cell phone, telling him that he had something urgent to tell him. When Adam, in a concerned voice, asked him what was wrong, Pete quickly set the record straight that nothing was wrong, he just needed to ask him something.

It saddened him to think that the minute he would tell anyone something urgent, they'd automatically assume that he'd done something wrong again, when really, he had promised after that one time that he'd never do it again.

When he managed to locate his car keys that were dangling precariously at the edge of the table in front of the door, he called to Patrick that he was ready and waited anxiously for him to appear from the bathroom.

"Ready?" Pete asked out of sheer need for small talk when Patrick finally appeared. Patrick merely nodded his head in agreement and avoided the vampire's eyes. Pete sighed and opened the door, letting Patrick go ahead of him so that he could lock it. Words wanted to spill out of his mouth like lava from a volcano. Patrick was being selfish, childish, _and yet I still love him_, Pete thought miserably.

He shut the door and locked it once Patrick was standing in the hallway with him. They stood awkwardly for a few seconds before Pete set off for the elevators, deciding that it was a quicker route to the car garage than walking down all the stairs like they normally did. The less time spent together, the better.

"Why're we taking the elevator?" Patrick asked, somewhat winded, as he caught up with Pete.

Pete shrugged. "Didn't feel like walking."

"You're seriously not going to be mad at me, are you? 'Cause if anyone should be angry, it's me."

Pete didn't bother to articulate a comeback. Let Patrick have his fun and get angry when he was really, _really_ just blowing this entire argument out of proportion. Pete still smirked, though, when he heard Patrick's aggravated string of curse words as Pete sped up his pace and Patrick had to quicken his own steps.

"I figured that it was you who was mad, 'Trick," Pete did say, the higher-than-thou attitude returning with a bang. Mess with fire and you'd get the fire straight back at you, and ten times as hot. "After all, I do recall that you threw a pretty good fit yesterday."

Patrick muttered a response and they finally made it to the elevator, both cramming awkwardly into the small space. Pete pressed the button that would send them to the ground floor and kept his gaze fervently locked on the plain, beige wall of his side of the elevator, Patrick mirroring his movements.

He wasn't going to lie, though; Patrick's blood smelled twenty times stronger in the elevator and a million times more delicious. The enticing smell made him grit his teeth and clench his fists in an effort to control himself.

No matter how _much_ Patrick pissed him off, he couldn't give in to his cravings like this. If he did kill Patrick, his cover would be blown, and then where would he be? Ryland and Travis wouldn't exactly be sympathetic to him for endangering the secret of the vampires hidden all around the city.

The elevator started its jerky, abrupt ascent to the ground, and eventually Pete found himself tapping the waist-high metal bar that ran the length of the elevator with the rips of his fingers. Patrick gave him a sharp glance and a short, biting, "Stop," and Pete did just that, mentally berating himself.

Internally, he wanted to do one of two things: Throw caution to the wind and forget about their differences, or snap and lose it right here. In all of his life, Pete had never met anyone so _frustrating_. The problems with Nate seemed infinitesimal compared to his and Patrick's problems.

_Love is so confusing_, Pete thought with a sigh as the elevator hit the ground floor with a soft _ding_ and the door slid open. "After you," Pete muttered, trying to keep chivalry alive as he and Patrick both moved toward the door at the same time.

Giving Pete a small look of gratitude, something that probably took great effort, Patrick moved forward and out the metal doors, waiting patiently as Pete got off, the doors sliding shut with a fluid motion and rattling slightly as the elevator was called up a few floors.

The parking garage was, as usual, dark and dingy despite the prime time of day. At one time in his life, Pete was sure that he would've been paranoid down here, alone, with shadows dancing along the cold concrete walls and endless rows of cars crouched patiently. There could be a multitude of things hidden down here, and no one would know until it was too late.

Pete shivered and hurried to where his Mercedes was parked, his paranoia catching up to him despite his immorality and inhuman strength. Patrick's heavy, reverberating footsteps followed Pete's light, barely-there ones, and Pete had his car door open in a few seconds' time, passenger door also open for Patrick to slide into. Pete could tell, from the look on the other man's face as he approached, that he was shocked that Pete was being as courteous as he was, given the current circumstances.

The awkward air that followed them settled in the car after both doors were closed and the engine hummed into existence. Pete drove out of the garage, and Patrick fiddled with the knobs on the radio as something to do.

"So…" Patrick cleared his throat as he shifted in his seat. The song on the station switched and immediately he perked up. "Oh! I love this song." His little half-smile was endearing, and the way that he tapped out the opening riffs doubled the feeling.

Pete watched as Patrick sang, noticed the way his lips curled each syllable into existence, how his diaphragm constructed the base of the song so well. He was a born singer; there was no doubt about it.

"Damnit," Pete muttered, fingers tightening on the sleek wheel. "Patrick."

Patrick looked over, an eyebrow cocked in question. His blue-green eyes (green today, matching the hoodie he wore) were wide behind his glasses, red-blond hair peeking out from under the equally green hat he had on. Pete shook his head and nearly ran a red light. "Don't," he murmured. "Don't look at me like that. Please."

"Like what?" Patrick asked softly, reaching up and curling a hand around Pete's bicep. The skin around the muscle stung, like he'd been branded.

"That's what," Pete got out. "_You_."

"What about me?" If Patrick didn't stop playing mind games soon, there would be more than red lights run.

"Your touch," Pete gasped, pressing the brake a little too hard as another red light blinked at them. "Your voice, your mouth, just… _everything_."

Patrick looked almost shocked, but he quickly shook that emotion away and focused. "Don't say it like I'm some big thing to you, Pete," he replied, somewhat scathingly. "That's impossible for someone as old as you."

Pete chuckled. "You're so wrong."

Patrick sighed and changed the subject, too weary to argue on this anymore. "Why are we driving to Bill's anyway? We normally walk, if I remember correctly. And it's, like, the last nice day of November."

Pete shrugged, turning into Bill's subdivision. "I didn't really think of it, to be honest."

Patrick looked like he didn't believe him, but he let it slide as they pulled up into Bill's driveway. At the mention of walking and November, Pete remembered that Thanksgiving was coming up soon, and he still hadn't asked Patrick to join him.

_You wouldn't have to ask if you'd just said yes when he asked to move in with you_, that nagging voice at the back of Pete's head supplied.

He sighed. "Patrick…" He stopped, unsure of how to continue. Patrick paused in getting out the car, looking at Pete expectantly. Pete swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking for the right words.

"Okay, so, like. Thanksgiving is coming up, you know, and… I haven't really spent it with anyone in a… in a long time, and you're the first person I've loved in probably ever, so. Would you like to, maybe, have dinner with me? And then… then after that we could move your stuff into my apartment so you wouldn't have to go home after such a big meal." _That was so not smooth_.

Pete bit his lip as he waited for Patrick to process this. It was silent for a few seconds, and then the look of comprehension dawned on Patrick's face and he grinned widely, eyes lighting up. "Pete, are you…? Are you really asking me to have dinner with you and move in with you?"

Pete shrugged. "That depends. Do you want to?"

"Hell yes!" Patrick squealed, launching himself at Pete. Another time, Pete would have to definitely make fun of Patrick for the high-pitched squeal, but right now, all he could think of was Patrick's arms wrapped around his neck, how the contours of their bodies seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces, and _shit_, why didn't they move in together sooner?

"Are you coming in or what?" another voice called from the direction of the doorstep. Both men turned to see Adam smiling good-naturedly at them and holding the door open.

Pete grinned back and disentangled himself from Patrick's embrace, moving to shut both car doors. "Coming, Sisky," he called, sweeping Patrick into his side, almost dragging him up the pathway as they both laughed at the sorely-missed feeling of their skin together.

It was too bad that, soon, all peace and security would be shattered.

----

**Yeah, so... They're moving in together. But how long can that last with some sort of danger? After this chapter there's actually going to be -gasp- action! If you've ever watched Moonlight before, you can take a few guesses as to what I'm going to have Pete find that'll change the course of his and Patrick's relationship. :) R&R please!**


	11. I'm In Love With My Own Sins

**DISCLAIMER:**I do not own anything. Warnings are: Slash, language, vampirism, and violence(!). If you've gotten this far then you know what you're getting yourself into. Hold on, guys. This one's a bit longer than the rest.

----

"I see you two are getting along fine," Bill said irritably when Patrick closed the door behind him. Pete detected the small note of friendliness hidden behind his friend's scathing tone, and he smiled, knowing that Bill was on the road to accepting his choice of lover.

He leaned over to peck Patrick on the cheek, causing Patrick to blush. Pete laughed loudly. "We are. And speaking of lovers"—which they totally weren't—"did I tell you that I saw Mikey Way at Lennox the other night?"

Adam appeared from the kitchen. "No, you didn't."

"Well, I did, and he was no less of an asshole than he used to be. Except now he's with this chick called Alicia something. Oh, and he's a vampire."

Adam looked at Pete in disbelief. "No way. Did he say how long?"

Pete scoffed. "Like I wanted to ask. I just want to know exactly how he got into the VIP section of the club. Unless he or his 'girlfriend' has connections, there's no other way."

Patrick caught onto the air quotes tacked onto girlfriend and looked closely at Pete, noticing how he grew angrier the more he talked about Mikey. And despite himself, Patrick felt a twang of jealously that someone else had such an impact on Pete. When he caught himself, Patrick grew concerned. Maybe Pete was right; maybe this whole relationship was too dangerous for both of them.

Leaning onto Bill, Adam asked him if he knew anything about Mikey or Alicia, seeing if there was anything that could tie the two to Nate's coven. Bill rolled his eyes at Adam's questions but didn't hesitate to jump into why he had called Pete and Patrick to the house.

"I went to see Ryland yesterday," he announced, ignoring Adam's questions. He tossed back his short brown hair. _When did he get it cut?_ Pete wondered for a few seconds before he was momentarily stunned that Bill had even gotten _near_ Ryland. That alone was very weird for the vampire leaders. Ryland and Travis rarely took visitors, since they had Gabe running errands for them now. Asking about Gabe was on the edge of Pete's tongue, but he held it.

"He let you in?" he asked incredulously. He almost didn't believe Bill, but there was no way that, had Bill not even been mad at him, he would have blatantly lied about this.

Bill nodded. "Travis was gone, though, so that could be why." That made sense, Pete rationalized. Travis was the more uptight, strict one of the duo. "But Ryland said that there hadn't been any recent activity with Nate. No suspicious murders, no threats, nothing at all," Bill finished.

"You think he's gone?" Patrick asked.

"I'm not sure. I doubt it, but you never know. Ryland was right, though; it's been really quiet lately."

"But that could mean anything."

Adam jumped in. "Pete, when was the last time Nate stayed quiet?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah, but… this could all be a ploy, Adam. Maybe he's getting smart and he's going to use reverse psychology on us. We need some other vampires to help us out." He sat down on the arm chair by the window, looking thoughtfully onto the streets outside the glass. "Whatever happened to Singer and Marshall?"

Adam raised his eyebrows. "They left not soon after they talked to us. Why?"

"They could help us," Pete said. "They're a lot older than anyone in this room, so who's to say they wouldn't be a huge help?"

In the distance, the twitters of birds leaving for south gave a mighty crescendo as they swooped close to the house, but everyone stayed quiet. Patrick shifted uneasily. This wasn't the place for him to say anything, since, compared to Bill and Adam and Pete, he had no years of experience under his belt. Hell, he didn't even _know_ how old Bill and Adam were, and he wondered briefly if asking them their age was as rude as asking a woman her age.

He'd never say it aloud, but this fact bothered him, to say the least. The night when he had been under the effects of Dark Crystal, when he had practically begged Pete to turn him, he wasn't lying. The euphoric feeling of the drug had almost nothing to do with that impulse decision. It was the knowledge of living for hundreds or years that excited him, the prospect of being immortal and nearly invincible that drew him like flies to honey.

Not the fangs, the power, the bloodlust. Those were all trivial things that came with the package of immortality. It was a life with Pete, where they didn't have to dance around intimacy like it was an abysmal thing.

Being a vampire was something that Patrick was wanting more and more with each passing day. He could never ask Pete to turn him, because he knew how the vampire would react. This obsession was unhealthy, but it was like an addiction, an itch that he just couldn't scratch.

Now that he and Pete were involved and Patrick spent most of his days around other vampires, the lust grew stronger, having the power at his clutches. Ashamed, Patrick realized that this was part of the reason he wanted to move in with Pete so badly.

In the end, Patrick knew that this change would have to be necessary. He could see it in Pete's eyes that they were on the same wavelength, no matter how immoral it was. But why would Pete do it? He himself didn't like being a vampire, and Patrick knew that Pete would want to do anything to keep him away from this lifestyle and the inevitable pain that came with the turning.

Their attraction grew stronger everyday, though, and Patrick could see it in Pete's eyes when he passed him in their apartment that Pete wanted, more than anything, to finally be with Patrick.

The question of whether or not there was a cure stayed open in the back of Patrick's mind. Surely, somewhere, there had to be one. If vampirism had evolved over millions of years, certainly some vampire had to want to be human again and they would have found some sort of cure.

If Pete ever got that cure, could it mean that he and Patrick could actually be together without the pain and suffering that came with the prospect of Patrick having to be turned before anything happened?

"Singer and Marshall?" Bill asked disbelievingly. "I don't know… while they _are_ older than us, it doesn't exactly mean that they're more experienced. Nate has become completely crazy since Victoria died."

Pete swore. "I had forgotten about her."

"Who is she?"

Both Adam and Bill turned to look at Patrick, while Pete leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Victoria was Nate's girlfriend," Adam said in hushed tones, like Nate could be watching them at any moment. "They were both vampires at one point, and both were very good friends with Ryland and Gabe."

"Gabe—?"

"He's not important," Adam cut in. "Just someone we all know very well. But then Victoria was killed by some fanatical hunters, and Nate was devastated. He blew off both Ryland and Gabe's advances of help and ran off, disappearing for almost five years before returning, this time with followers and the plan he's carrying out right now."

Patrick whistled. "Wow. That's… that's bad, isn't it?"

Bill nodded. "I'm afraid so. Pete?"

The other vampire looked up at his name being called, and, in all truth, he looked like shit when the light caught his face. Patrick hadn't thought it possible for vampires to show signs of weariness and stress, but apparently they did. Bill noticed it too.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked quietly, so that only Pete could hear. He crossed his arms over the front of his blue V-neck and faced Pete.

Pete gave a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe, maybe not. I've been so stressed lately that the days are blurring."

"That's not a good decision and you know it. You've got Patrick living in your apartment now."

"So? I've been extra careful around him."

"Yeah, for now. What happens when you get thirsty and suddenly, he's not Patrick anymore, and he just becomes food?"

Pete growled. "That _won't_ happen, Bill. I've got it all under control."

Bill rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Whatever. You need to take him home so that Adam and I—" He was cut off by a loud banging at the door, and he raised an eyebrow, unfolding his arms as he took long, easy strides to the front door. "Who could that be?" he muttered to himself as he turned the knob and opened the door to reveal Gabe Saporta, looking haggard and frightened. _Speak of the devil_, Patrick thought.

"Gabe?" Bill asked in surprise. Adam craned his head to see in front of Bill, while Patrick and Pete stayed back. Gabe gave a harried 'hello' and pushed past the two vampires, allowing Bill to close the door behind him to ward off the chill.

If Pete had looked bad, Patrick rationalized, Gabe looked twenty times worse. His garish purple hoodie was smudged with dirt and he had multiple cuts and forming bruises on his face and neck. His eyes were wide and his dark hair was tousled. He looked like he had just barely escaped with his life intact.

"Gabe?" Bill asked again, this time out of alarm rather than surprise. "What happened to you?"

Gabe shook his head. "It's not important. What's important Bill, is that Nate's hideout has been found." Pete abandoned his fatigued look and was almost instantly back to business as he stood up in one fluid motion and was at Gabe's side in seconds flat, taking the taller man's arm in his strong grip.

"Where is it?" he asked quietly. Gabe looked at Patrick for a few seconds, eyes flashing recognition, before he turned back to Pete. "It's just outside the city limits, hidden by Lake Michigan." Pete nodded thoughtfully, preoccupied with his thoughts. "That's not far from Lennox, which explains why it was just that club that was full of the Dark Crystal."

He turned to Bill and Adam and briefly locked eyes with Patrick before looking away. "I'm going with Gabe," he announced. "If Nate's hideout has been found, then that means that we're one step closer to getting rid of him." Bill opened his mouth to protest, and Adam shook his head.

"It's dangerous!" Patrick exclaimed, cutting off both of them. He walked up to Pete and placed his hands on Pete's shoulders, his vision blurring as he blinked to try to keep his eyes dry. "You might not even come back." The last part was a whisper as Patrick choked back tears. Pete gently grasped Patrick's waist, pulling him closer.

"Nothing's gonna get me," he whispered into Patrick's ear. "I'm gonna be fine."

Sealing the deal with a kiss, Pete pulled back. "Please, stay here until I get back," he pleaded.

Patrick reluctantly nodded. "Anything, Pete. Just come _back_."

"I will," Pete whispered as he and Gabe left and shut the door behind them.

_I hope that I will._

----

Pete drove himself and Gabe over to the far shore of Lake Michigan. When they were a walking distance from the pier, Pete parked, shutting off the engine but remaining seated. Gabe gave him a quizzical look, and Pete felt sorry for the man. It couldn't be easy to be a spy for so many different vampires. There was a reason that spies died horrible deaths, and Gabe was just lucky to even be alive at this point in time.

"Are we—?" Gabe started, but winced and stopped, bringing a hand up to touch his split lip lightly as it began to bleed again. Pete smelled the new blood and almost immediately felt his body tense and his canines enlarge. _Control yourself_, he thought angrily, shaking his head _yes and no_ as if there was a fly circling him. _This is Gabe fucking Saporta. He's not food. You need to drink, Wentz, and fast before Patrick's endangered._

"Hold on," Pete said, answering Gabe's half-asked question. "I want to… think this out."

Gabe nodded, moving a little closer to the window as if he knew exactly what Pete was thinking. _He probably does,_ Pete thought. _I'm so fucking obvious when I'm thirsty._ Pete ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think without stressing.

They were here, closer to Nate's hideout than was safe, and Pete didn't have a clue what he was going to do. He had acted on a dime, only choosing to confront Nate because he wanted not only himself to be safe, but Patrick.

Patrick meant the world to him, and if Nate had gotten people to come to his old apartment before, there wasn't anything to say that he wouldn't do it again, only this time he'd go to Pete's apartment and endanger a secret as well as lives.

Pete turned to Gabe, trying to hide exactly how much the little whiffs of blood excited him. "Let's go," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out. Gabe followed, though he was slightly slower, and limped over to Pete. Pete looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry Gabe," he murmured. "You shouldn't be here. You've already been too close to death."

Gabe shook his head. "No, Pete. I'm fine, okay? Let's just—let's go and get this over with."

Pete nodded. "Alright."

They started along the shore of the lake, listening to the waves lap at the shore. Trees lined the far bank, and Pete could sense that it was there, hidden somewhere among the bushes. The forest, with its numerous trees dropping leaves whenever a particularly strong gust of wind blew, seemed foreboding; though, Pete rationalized, that could be because he knew exactly what lay beyond those trees.

He stole a look at Gabe. It still shocked him at how bad he looked right now. Normally Pete couldn't stand the man, since a lot of the time Gabe was arrogant and just this much over an asshole. Now, he just looked afraid and in pain. He kept pulling at the sleeves of his purple hoodie and jumping at the slightest noise. Pete felt really sorry for Gabe, despite the countless times that he wouldn't have minded killing him just to shut him up.

"I'm sorry." It slipped out of Pete's mouth before he could even register it. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to hit himself for being so stupid. Gabe looked at him oddly. "What for?" he asked.

Pete looked up at the taller man, sighing. "For everything that I've said to you in the past. You're a good guy, Gabe. You've risked your life for people who didn't give a shit what you did, and I respect that. I just wish that I would've respected it sooner."

Gabe laughed, which took Pete by surprise. "Oh, no, I'm not laughing at you," Gabe explained. "I'm just laughing at how fucking true that statement is. I don't know why I frivolled away my life, either. I'm lucky to be alive, actually. I'm surprised that Nate didn't just kill me."

"Whatever happened between you two, anyway?" Pete couldn't resist asking.

"A lot," Gabe said. "Victoria was killed and he just wasn't the same Nasty Nate that I once knew. I figured that I'd better get out while I could if I wanted to keep my pulse once he returned from wherever he had run off to."

"I'm sorry."

Gabe shrugged. "The past is the past, man." He stopped before they neared the forest's edge; quickly enough that Pete walked a good few steps before he realized that he was alone. "Gabe?" Pete asked.

"It's here." Gabe's answer was quiet, carried on a fleeting wind that just barely reached Pete's ears.

Pete swallowed, smelling the vampire scent on the air now that Gabe had brought it to attention. He walked over to him and pressed his hand to the sleeve of Gabe's hoodie. "Are you sure you still want to go?"

"I do," Gabe replied, his voice restrained. "I'll be fine."

Pete didn't believe him, but they walked into the darkness, not looking back. One heart pounded furiously and one set of vampire instincts sprung to attention. They could die in here. Nate could kill them both and then there wouldn't be any hope at all. Pete thought of Patrick and Gabe, realizing that if there were ever any good reasons for risking his immorality, these were it.

Truth be told, Pete wasn't a psychic. He wasn't a glossed-up vampire on the cover of a movie poster or a book. He was the real deal. He thirsted for blood and he sometimes let his instincts get the best of him. He was in love with a human, which went beyond so many boundaries. He was imperfect, like everyone else, and he wasn't a hero, or a martyr.

He had been a vampire for seventy-one years and still wasn't used to it, so having this load thrown on top of him wasn't helping the situation, either. He was just Pete Wentz, son of a family that was a lot more than financially troubled, and surely had all died off due to Pete's fear of them finding him as a monster.

He could actually be a hero if he survived this. His family—wherever it was that they were now—would forgive him for abandoning them. But, there was still that nagging word circling his mind.

_If._

It lay heavily on his tongue, on his mind, as he thought it. Marching out here, like this, at the drop of a hat was loading up the ifs and Pete realized that he and Gabe could very well be killed, and then where would Patrick, Adam, Bill—hell, the rest of Chicago be? They'd be left without a savior and they'd keep a coven of dangerous vampires led by a fanatical leader hell-bent on revenge. Lives were at stake.

It was do or die now.

----

Creaks from bare branches overhead mixed with the rustle of leaves still clinging to certain trees. Pete made virtually no sound through the underbrush, while Gabe had a harder time crunching through the debris without making too much noise. They both knew that they had a vampire with heightened hearing looking for them, so keeping quiet wasn't only an option; it was also a tactic to stay alive.

It had been ten minutes and Gabe _still_ didn't know where they were.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Pete asked heavily, trying to be patient. After all, it _was_ dark in here, so it wasn't too hard to get lost. And there were lots of trees and bushes, all of which created a very impossible maze.

Gabe paused before nodding his head, then thought better of it and shook it instead, raising his fists up to rub at his eyes. He then let his shoulders slump dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Pete," he whispered. "I can't believe that I can't even find a simple hideout. Lives depend on me and yet I'm still fucking up. It's my fault that Nate's out here, like he is now, and that Victoria's dead and—"

"Stop it," Pete commanded, moving to stand beside Gabe and place a hand on his shoulder. "None of that is your fault, okay, Gabe? You haven't done anything to screw up. It's dark in here; I can understand why humans would get lost. Nate chose his own path after Victoria died. You could have done absolutely nothing to stop those hunters. Why think you're God? You know you're not, so why think that you need to be responsible for everything that has gone wrong in this city? You're just Gabe Saporta."

"Sometimes that's not good enough."

"Then make it good enough." Pete's voice left no room for argument.

Gabe sighed but didn't argue, and they walked on in virtual silence.

"Pete?" Gabe asked after awhile. Pete sighed, answering back, "Yes?"

"Do you—you love Patrick, don't you?" Gabe fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, a nervous habit that was making more and more appearances as they neared Nate's hideout.

Pete looked at him, furrowing his brow. "Yeah… I do. Why do you want to know, Gabe?"

"Nothing… just forget I ever asked," Gabe said.

Pete didn't want to forget, though. Gabe had him curious now; what could he possibly want to know about Pete and Patrick? He had his own agenda and his own set of problems. Their biggest one and looming closer with each step right now. Apparently, that wasn't what Gabe's heart was set on.

Pete stopped dead when he caught a scent in the air that made him both shrink back in fear and move forward in sheer hatred. They had stumbled upon Nate's hideout. A hand moved out to block Gabe in an instant, so fast that the human barely saw it coming before he walked into it, giving out a slight _oomph_ as it connected with his stomach.

"Pete—" he started angrily, but was instantly shushed as Pete shot him a severe look. Gabe's eyes widened at the obvious change in Pete's appearance, and there was only a second's spared glance of pity before Pete's full attention was once again focused on the brush in front of him.

"Nate," he growled in the deep, guttural voice he used specifically when he was in this stage. "Nate… come out here."

Gabe visibly shivered, but remained quiet. A voice like that, it could definitely shatter walls and cause even lions to go into hiding. He had only heard Pete use this voice once, a long time ago when Nate had first run away and Gabe was being completely and utterly irrational.

It was then that him realize that maybe, just maybe, he had had feelings for Nate, hidden and locked up somewhere in the back of his mind. Unfortunately, Nate never would have taken him as more than a friend, and there was no chance now to speak how he felt. While this fact was disheartening, it was also a wake-up call. There was so much that needed to be said, but now, there would never be a chance.

Seconds passed with no noise. Pete didn't move, just kept his eyes locked in front of him, body as tense as a coiled viper waiting to spring and bite. He exhaled through his teeth, feeling his body morph from human to vampire, running his tongue along the edges of his canines as they slowly revealed themselves. "Na-ate," he called out again, in an eerily singsong voice. "We're waiting."

A figure began to materialize before the last syllable even left Pete's mouth. Gabe shrank back while Pete edged forward, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he let out a feral hiss. Only, it wasn't Nate that approached.

Pete recognized the long blond hair and the deep-set features of Michael Guy Chislett, striding forward as confident as a model on the runway. "Where's Nate?" Pete asked without skipping a beat. "I didn't ask for you."

Chizz gave him a warm smile, though Gabe could tell, from his safe distance away, that Chizz's smile was anything but. He eyed Pete coolly from half-lidded eyes and held much the same stance that Pete did; body tense and eyes alight. "You got me anyway," Chizz replied in his thick Australian accent, taking a step forward at almost the same time Pete did.

Pete hissed, pulling his lips back. "Where's Nate?" he asked again, more forcibly this time.

"Waiting."

Pete clenched his teeth in anger. "My patience is wearing thin, Chizz. You've tried to kill my friends more than once and you know that you're not gonna get away with it. If Nate is too scared to come out here, then let me through and I'll go find him myself."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Pete."

"I don't give a shit if you can or can't," Pete replied. "It's a matter of principle. If it's possible, I'm going to do it."

Chizz laughed, soft and mocking. "Of course. Always you, Pete Wentz, trying to break past barriers that you know shouldn't be broken." He stepped forward again and rested a hand on Pete's chest. He leaned in, lips brushing Pete's neck as the other vampire tried to shrink back, but was confined by Chizz's strong grip. "But you're just immortal," Chizz whispered into Pete's ear. "It doesn't mean that you still can't be killed."

Pete shook him off and growled, narrowing his eyes. "And so can you," he said, trying to keep his voice level as it shook with the urge to lash out at him. Later on, he would remember how Gabe let out a shriek and ran off as Chizz jumped Pete. But for now, all Pete could see and remember were teeth and growls, snaps of steel-like jaws and grappling hands as they both fell to the forest floor, tussling as Chizz repeatedly dove for Pete's neck.

"So—naïve," Pete got out as he pushed Chizz off him and pinned him. "No one goes for the neck." He dug his hands into Chizz's sides, ignoring the vampire's squawks of pain as Pete moved down and bit into Chizz's shoulder, feeling blood well up under the bite as he crunched past skin and muscle and fit his teeth around the clavicle, biting with little pressure as the section of the bone in his mouth snapped off.

Chizz shrieked and hissed, trying his best to retaliate at Pete, but as the blood ran in rivers down his shoulder and stained the leaf-strewn floor, Pete gained more advantage by the other vampire's distraction. He spat the bone behind him, baring his bloodstained teeth.

The sight of the blood strewn about the clearing, all so pretty and red, nearly drove Pete over the edge. He focused his attention on the way it contoured to Chizz's shoulders and chest, how it was _so close_. Pete almost lost his concentration, but when he felt Chizz's body twitch violently under his, he snapped back to attention, snarling as he pressed his knee harder into the other vampire's thigh.

Gabe watched the fight from afar, eyes flashing in terror as he caught sight of Pete's bloodstained fangs. Really, he had never viewed Pete as the type to kill and fight, but as Chizz gained purchase in the next split-second and slammed Pete onto the ground so fast that it was just a blur of color and red, Pete reared up, and, with a snarl so loud and so ferocious that it shook the ground, caught Chizz's jugular in his mouth.

He didn't bite hard enough to break the skin, but he put enough pressure that Chizz flailed and tried to move away, but stopped when he realized Pete's motive. He wanted Chizz to twist to the point that Pete's teeth would really break the skin and then, Pete would have no obstacle to overcome to get to Nate. Chizz wasn't that stupid and desperate. They were both equally matched in strength and skill, so why let Pete gain the upper hand and win?

Chizz tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled mass of unintelligible words. He was afraid to move, even as the rock-hard weight of Pete's inhuman body was flush against him, knee digging into his hip and fingers clenching on the unbroken skin of his other shoulder.

Pete bit down ever-so-slightly, increasing the pressure as he grinned against Chizz's neck. Let the vampire squirm and try to speak; Pete would get his way, no matter the consequences. Though in this case, the consequences would work in his favor.

Pete let go, looking at the deep imprints in Chizz's neck. Before the vampire could get up, he placed his hand there, pushing down while he stared Chizz in the eyes, red looking at red. Chizz bared his fangs in distaste.

"Calm down," Pete chuckled, pressing harder. "This is just a taste of how bad it's _going_ to get if you don't back down. I'm not pretty when I'm angry, Michael."

"You're not pretty at all, _Peter_," Chizz managed to spit out. Pete just smirked.

"Oh Chizz. I really didn't want to do this, man," he said, faking sadness, before digging his fingers into Chizz's neck, breaking the skin easily and wrapping them around Chizz's trachea.

Pete watched the other vampire's eyes widen and his mouth open and close as he tried to push away. He caught Chizz's frantic, pleading look and smiled cruelly, saying "Too late now," before yanking his hand up, tearing out Chizz's throat with a flick of his wrist so graceful a dancer would be envious.

Chizz flopped and gasped for a few seconds, blood pooling around his body, grabbing blindly at Pete before convulsing and going limp. Pete sat back, looking at his hand with disgust. He flung the unwanted body part deeper into the woods, wiping his hand on the ground. He got up, brushing himself off and licking what was left of the blood off his lips. "Gabe?" he called, furrowing his brow. "Gabe? Where are you?"

"Uh, I-I think I'll stay here," Gabe's disembodied voice called from somewhere a few yards away. Pete raised an eyebrow. "You sure? It's all over now."

"Y-Yeah, I—" There was the sound of vomiting, and instantly, Pete felt bad. Gabe must have seen the entire fight. Pete ran a hand through his black hair, sighing dejectedly. "Fuck, Gabe, I'm so sorry. I forgot that you were there. You know that's not me. Chizz… he just got in the way of what I want."

Gabe didn't answer for a few seconds, but when he did, his voice was tired and still held the tiniest notion of being frightened. "I know, Pete. I'll just stay here, okay? It's safer."

Pete nodded as if Gabe could see him. "Just be safe." He walked off; stepping over Chizz's body before stepping into the hollow the other vampire had appeared from.

His tough demeanor reappeared, fangs growing out to their full length as his eyes turned blood-red again and his body tingled with adrenaline. In this hollow, life and death would become nothing more than words, and there wouldn't be a good outcome either way.

But Pete, he wasn't scared.

----

**So, I'm glad I finally got to update. This took awile to write, especially the fight scene. In the next chapter, Pete finds Nate, as you could kind of already guess. Forshadowing ftw. :) R&R please!**


	12. Forever, Forever Is A Mighty Long Time

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings for this chapter are: language, vampirism, violence(!). Don't read if you're uncomfortable.

----

"Patrick, stop pacing."

Patrick ignored Bill's voice and continued to pace in front of the bay window, bottom lip firmly between his teeth. The sun was steadily setting, and that tied further knots into Patrick's stomach. "Where is he?" he muttered, looking around almost spastically. Bill and Adam shared a glance, the latter setting a hand on Bill's shoulder. Bill gave Adam a stern look.

Adam got up off the couch, walking over to Patrick and catching him mid-stride, firm hand on Patrick's shoulder. Patrick turned eyes as flinty as steel onto the vampire, a calculating coolness about his look. "What?" he asked shortly.

"You need to calm down." Adam's voice was just as firm, and after a few seconds, Patrick's rigid posture softened and he sagged into Adam's touch. "I'm so worried," he said, voice weary. He took off his glasses to rub at his eyes, the steadily-darkening bags making him look older than he actually was.

"Pete's fine," Bill supplied. "The kid's fierce."

Patrick gave Bill a somewhat-grateful look before looking back outside the window. "Not fierce enough, I'm afraid," he said softly. "This just seems too huge for him to get through by himself." The sun's rays hit a few remaining red leaves on an oak in front of the house; its leaves glowed blood-red in the dying light, too reminiscent of just exactly what was plaguing Patrick's mind right at this moment.

Adam noticed his gaze and moved to snap the blinds shut. "Just stop thinking, 'Trick," he said, hoping that maybe Pete's nickname would help soothe the reporter.

All it did was make Patrick crack a small smile, though that was an improvement from the last few hours. "Impossible," Patrick replied with a forced chuckle. "I'm a writer, dude. All I do is think."

"Pete wouldn't want you doing this," Bill said, getting up as well. "He wanted you to stay here and be safe." He moved to stand behind Adam, trying to avoid any kind of touching that could remind Patrick of Pete.

Patrick rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet. Maybe Bill was right. But he _had_ to worry. Pete was out there, knowingly putting his life—or lack thereof—on the line, and for what? An entire city of people who didn't even know what was going on in the first place?

"He's being a martyr," Patrick said suddenly. Adam gave him a quizzical look.

"He's only doing this to save people who don't even care," Patrick continued, knowing that he was ranting, but his chest ached without Pete's presence, and he wasn't ready to admit just yet that he was hopelessly in love with the vampire.

"Maybe so," Adam said, "but it's not only them he's doing this for, Patrick."

"If you're going to say me, stop. Just. Don't even start that bullshit."

Bill raised an eyebrow at Patrick's hostile tone. "Are you so afraid to admit your feelings, Patrick? After all, I believe that it was you who tried to kiss Pete in the first place," he said.

Patrick ignored his knowing look. "That was before…"

"Before what? You found out he was a vampire? Patrick, stop being so blind. You asked to move in with him. You can't stand there and lie to me and say that you've never once loved Pete Wentz for who he is."

The tears came, fast and hot, and Patrick couldn't blink fast enough to keep them back. The floor blurred underneath his feet as sobs threatened to break from his throat. He didn't want to admit anything out loud; love, danger, how much he worried about Pete and how little he worried about himself.

Adam lightly touched Patrick's elbow and led him to the armchair by the window, murmuring a soothing, "Sit down," as he felt Patrick's shoulders shaking with unheard sobs. Adam looked to Bill as they silently communicated, rushing together phrases of _he's going to be okay_, _no he's slowly killing himself with all this stress_, _what should I do?_ all with their eyes and fluid movements.

Patrick watched each teardrop create a round, dark spot on his jeans. He scrubbed at his eyes furiously, angry at himself for breaking down like this when, honestly, what should he be worrying about? He was safe in the suburbs, surrounded by families who had no clue of the agony going on inside the house next to them. But he didn't _feel_ safe.

"Bill," Patrick forced out, still not looking up as, slowly, the tide of tears and choking feeling in his throat subsided, allowing him the ability to speak, though it was in a slightly rusty voice.

"Patrick?" Bill answered back, bracing himself for whatever the other man might say. Patrick sighed and cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the groggy, waterlogged feeling. "C-Can you get Singer and Marshall again? Please. They—they can help us out."

Bill nodded, already heading for the phone in the kitchen. When he left, Adam rubbed his palm against his cheek, watching Patrick's hunched back rise and fall with every ragged breath. "You okay?" he asked softly, sitting on the arm of the chair.

"Yeah," Patrick replied without looking up. _Lying_, Adam thought with a shake of his head. He decided to jump in and say the first consoling things that came to mind.

"Pete's fine. You know that."

Now Patrick looked up, sharp blue-green eyes steely and jaw set dangerously. "_You_ don't know that," he growled. "Don't fucking lie to me."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "And how do you know he's not? He's a big boy, Patrick, and he can take care of himself. After all, he _has_ been alive for a hundred years. Just because there's danger lurking out in the woods doesn't mean that he isn't capable of handling it himself."

A tear in the couch became interesting as Patrick debated on whether to reply back or not. He knew Adam was right; he knew that he was being irrational. But he _couldn't help it_. The worry tore at his throat and threatened to bubble over and suffocate him. It was torture, being trapped here while Pete was across the city, laying God knows what on the line.

"I-I know," he finally said, shocked at how small his voice was. "I know you're right, Adam."

Adam leaned over and enveloped Patrick in a hug, whispering soothingly into his ear until Bill came back into the room. "Am I missing something?" Bill asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Patrick managed a small, choked laugh. A little of the tension melted away, but not enough. "He's still all yours, Bill," he said. It was a feeble attempt at humor, but it was all that Patrick could do right now. He stood up shakily and swallowed. He bit his lip, fiddling with the brim of his hat.

Bill laughed back, walking into the living room. He picked up the remote to the TV, then put it back down in second thought. "Marshall and Singer are on their way," he said. "They're somewhere around Arizona right now, so it may be a few hours."

Patrick let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "And after that?"

"After that? We hope that they know what they're doing," Bill replied.

And just like that, the knots returned, and Patrick clenched the side of the armchair to keep from falling as the room spun. _They might not know what they're doing… Oh god, Pete_. _Be safe, please. I-I love you._

He didn't realize until later that this was the first time he had ever even said those words aloud, except for a golden day, weeks ago, when he and Pete were walking home and those words, _you don't have to cover up how you feel when you're in love,_ had come as easily to his tongue as any other word.

----

The darkness of the hollow closed in on Pete as he took long strides, twigs and leaves barely crunching under his calculating steps. The earthy smell of rotting leaves and moss was overtaken by the stench of death and decay, an obvious sign that the other vampires were around here somewhere.

"Nate," he trilled out, anger quivering in every inch of his body. "Chizz is gone, man. It's just you and me."

There was a type of silence that enveloped Pete, a potent mixture of fear, apprehension, and undeniable evilness. The crack of a breaking twig sounded like a gunshot to Pete's amplified hearing, and a jolt of shock ripped through his body, causing him to jerk. In an instant, though, his composure was back and he edged forward, never breaking his stride.

Every sense was hyper alert, every limb tensed and ready. "Nate," Pete growled again, eyes darting back and forth. "You can't hide from me forever."

"Oh, but I can," drawled a deep voice from the far right. Pete swung his head to that direction, but all he could see were brambles and tree branches.

"Coward," Pete said lowly, sliding into a stance.

Nate chuckled, stepping out into the open. "You wish."

His appearance wasn't anything short of frightening. Years ago, Nate had been presentable and especially good-looking. Now, he took on a wild manner, dark hair sticking up every which way. His eyes were chalky white, characteristic of a vampire who has never let himself slide of out the feral stage. Nate's mouth was open, fangs glinting dully as he stepped toward Pete.

"Pete," he started, hissing cruelly, his tongue curving around his teeth, "you should have known that it was foolish to come here alone. The best thing that can happen to you is that you'll lose."

Pete laughed mockingly, clenching his teeth in anger. He stepped closer, following Nate's every move with careful eyes. "I'm not here to win or lose. I'm here to kick your sorry ass. You think that you can get away with terrorizing my friends?"

"Oh, your friends? I specifically sent Chizz and Brendon to look for that little boytoy of yours…"

That was all it took. In the blink on an eye, Pete was tackling Nate to the ground, eyes flashing a matching shade of white as he drew back his lips to reveal his fangs. "Don't you fucking dare bring Patrick into this," he hissed, pushing the heel of his palm into Nate's throat. The other vampire just laughed, reaching up a hand to smack Pete across the face.

Pete, caught off guard, went tumbling to the ground, dazed. Nate loomed over him, a sadistic grin on his face. Pete jumped up, diving for Nate again, this time meeting some resistance as they tussled, jaws snapping at necks and hands clawing at sides and shoulders, wherever there was a soft spot. Pete howled in pain as Nate caught his side, raking open the skin with his diamond-like nails.

"I didn't—know you cared so much about a _human_," Nate spat in disdain. Pete snarled and punched Nate in the gut, jumping back away from Nate's clutches. "He's not just a human," Pete snarled. "And he's none of _your_ business, Novarro."

Nate cackled, or as close to it as his voice would allow, and sidestepped Pete's next blow. "Ryland and Travis won't like to hear that you've been fucking some little human," he said.

"He's—not just some little _human_," Pete reiterated angrily. "Since when did you even _care_ about what Ryland and Travis had to say?"

"Since it could get you in trouble," Nate replied slyly. "Oh, poor Pete, breaking the Vampire Codes and getting involved with some stupid boy. Are you ever gonna learn?"

Nate was baiting him; it was blindingly obvious. But in his rage, Pete looked past all of it and saw only a killer making mindless threats. "You can't always do this," Pete snapped, catching Nate off guard and dragging his nails across Nate's face.

Ignoring his hiss of pain, Pete continued. "Eventually someone's gonna stand up to you, like I'm doing right now, and you'll be _dead_. Do you hear me? _Dead_, and I'm not shitting you."

Nate clutched his face, anger burning out of his good eye, the pupil contracting to catlike slits. "I think you've got me confused with yourself," he hissed. When he moved his hand, it showed four jagged red cuts across the left side of his face.

Pete barely had time to be proud before he was knocked flat on his back, and Nate was on top of him, fangs bared and eye alight with a wild hunger that drove all human out of him and left him a pure vampire, focused on only killing and destroying.

"Goodbye, Pete," Nate whispered as he leaned down, the stench of death invading Pete's senses. Pete tried to squirm away, tried to snap and slash, but his arms were pinned down, and, in a flash, Nate's teeth were at his neck, tearing and slashing. Pete screamed, eyes opening wide as he colors of the forest swam in and out of focus.

With a great heave, he flung Nate across the clearing, trying his best to ignore the sound of ripping flesh as Nate's teeth were crudely torn from his neck. Pete panted, fingers twitching as blood pooled at the hollow of his neck. Nate watched him with eyes bright white, lips dripping red with blood.

"This isn't finished," Nate hissed before disappearing, leaving Pete alone, knees going weak. He limped across the clearing, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to stay upright. When he reached the thicket where Gabe was hidden, he feebly called his name and collapsed onto his knees.

Immediately, Gabe was at his side, brown eyes wide and lips parted. "Shit, Pete, are you—_fuck_, Pete," he stammered. Pete laughed weakly, thankful for now that the wind blew the scent of Gabe's blood away from him. "Just—get me home, Gabe," he rasped, closing his eyes against the impending blackness.

A fire was burning inside him, now, as Gabe helped him up and to his car. It started at the back of his throat and grew, licking at his taste buds and insides, sending his brain the signal that meant only one thing: blood.

Gabe sped down the highway at ungodly speeds, reaching Pete's apartment in no time. Without another word, Gabe led him up to the elevator, keeping Pete conscious until he could unlock Pete's apartment with the offered key and called Adam's house with the number Pete blearily gave him.

"Patrick," Gabe said solemnly, "Pete needs you. Get here now."

And he hung up.

----

Patrick ran into Pete's apartment, flustered, as he repeatedly called Pete's name frantically. He rushed around every room, looking until he finally found Pete, barely conscious on his bed. Patrick's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and he took a tentative step toward the ailing vampire, saying softly, "Are you okay?"

Pete laughed weakly, closing his eyes against the burn in his throat. He turned his neck just so, and the light caught onto the gaping bite wound, still not fully healed. Patrick clapped a hand over his mouth, gasping. "Shit," he murmured. "You're really not okay."

"I-I'm fine," Pete replied, trying his best to hold his breath, because from the moment Patrick entered, the tempting scent of his blood was just too much. Pete knew that if Patrick got any closer, there would be nothing stopping him from draining the other man completely dry.

But whenever he tried to open his mouth to tell Patrick to get out while he still had time, his words stuck, and he watched as Patrick approached closer and closer, and it was almost like having an out-of-body experience.

Patrick bit his lip and walked to Pete's bedside. Pete sucked in an accidental breath, and the sweet smell of blood wafted to his nostrils, overpowering and tantalizing. Patrick watched Pete's throat convulse as he swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to look at the neck wound.

"Pete," he said again, almost like it was the only word he was capable of saying. "I can't believe that you—you're actually still _alive_, and it seems so totally impossible, and I—I know I've never said this before, but… oh, fuck it. I love you, you asshole. _So much_."

A smile spread over Pete's pained features. He held up his hand, and Patrick got the message. He reached down and entwined their fingers. "I love you too," Pete whispered. "So much." Patrick laughed now. He leaned down to peck Pete's lips and that was where it all went wrong.

Pete didn't expect Patrick to get so close, and when Pete felt the pulse of blood under the skin of Patrick's hand, instinct took over and he growled, loud enough that it echoed slightly in the room. His eyes burned white again, fangs unsheathing as he flipped Patrick onto his back with all his strength, straddling him in a way that wasn't at all anything like they wanted it to be.

Patrick squeaked in fright, unable to tear his eyes away from Pete's face; how his lips curved backward in a grotesque snarl, his eyes showed no hint of hazel, and with every heaving breath his pupils flattened into catlike ones.

"Pete, stop," Patrick whimpered, trying with all his might to twist away. "Pete, it's me!"

Pete ignored him and brushed his hand over Patrick's throat, feeling him shudder as pressed the tip of his index finger into the pulse point. The fire in his throat intensified as he felt the steady, intensified thrumming beneath his finger. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming at him to stop, that this was someone he loved.

"So pretty," Pete growled, successfully ignoring the voice. "Such sweet blood…"

He trailed off and leaned down, hovering right above where his index finger was still positioned. Patrick sobbed and stopped moving, feeling Pete's cool breath on his skin as he steadily moved closer. He had known that this was too dangerous, that he should have left Pete the moment he saw the wound and how drained he was, but it was too late for remorse now.

"Pete," Patrick whimpered, but shut his mouth immediately after. The man above him definitely wasn't Pete, so why should he answer to the name? Patrick never knew that fear could choke him like this, shut his airways and render him motionless.

He just closed his eyes and braced himself, expecting the worse. But he couldn't help it that he flinched at the first touch of sharp fang. He waited for the pain of piercing, but it never came. Instead, the pressure on the bed lifted as Pete scrambled back to press against the wall, chest heaving as turmoil battled inside his head.

Patrick bolted up, watching Pete in silence. He touched the side of his neck where Pete had been only seconds before, shocked to find that there wasn't a mark, that Pete hadn't bitten him. That he was _still alive_.

Pete shook his head, clenching his eyes shut as he hissed in pain. When he opened his eyes again, they were his normal hazel, the hunger-crazed look masked with pain and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I-I didn't mean to, 'Trick…"

Patrick just shook his head and left the room. Pete bit his lip, feeling the anger at being so fucking _stupid_ well up in him until he turned and, with another fearsome growl, punched a hole in the wall behind his head.

Making sure that Patrick's door was closed, Pete went into the kitchen and hastily poured a glass of blood, gulping it down, hoping to whet the desire. It helped, but only a little bit. The only thing it really made him do was realize that he needed to get down to Andy and get more blood. With shaking fingers, he dialed Bill's number.

"Pete?" Bill asked tightly. "What's wrong? Gabe said there was an emergency, so Patrick left."

Pete sighed and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows with his index finger and thumb. "Nate and I got into a fight. And I killed Chizz."

"So what happened?"

"Nate… nearly killed me. Gabe took me home to Patrick, and I know he shouldn't have. I know I should have resisted and told him to take me to your house, but I wasn't thinking clearly."

Bill sighed deeply and asked, with a shaking voice, "You killed Patrick, didn't you?"

"Oh God, no!" Pete exclaimed, laughing nervously. "But I almost did. He's—I don't know where he is right now. He might be in his room. But I feel like _shit_, Bill, because I let the instinct get the best of me and I was _this close_ to killing him. It's like. I don't know how I didn't do it, to be honest."

Unbeknownst to Pete, Patrick had crept into the room and was listening from the arch of the doorway. When he heard Pete utter the last sentence, he let the tears fall. "Is this even worth it?" he whispered brokenly. "It's too dangerous for us. For me, especially."

He fully meant to gather he belongings and leave, but he caught Pete's look of surprise when he said, "Marshall has something for me? But—" and then his skepticism when he said, "He says it's something to help me with Patrick? That's impossible, unless he's got—"

Pete cut himself off with a gasp. "No," he murmured, looking down as he moved the phone to his other ear, wincing when it caught against the healing neck wound. "He can't have it, Bill. There's no way he does."

Patrick heard him sigh and stammer out a quick goodbye before hanging up the phone. Patrick darted back to his room just as the door to the apartment closed, wondering what Marshall could possibly have that would make Pete act like that.

----

"Pete," Marshall greeted when Pete walked in the door of Bill's house. Pete looked at him sideways, instead going to Bill first. Bill gently touched his shoulder and smiled, although it was tight-lipped. "It'll be okay, Pete," he said. Pete only nodded.

When he turned back toward Marshall, Pete caught sight of the plain wooden box the older vampire held in his hands. "Marshall—" he started, but Marshall waved him off.

"I know that you're aware of what it is, Pete," Marshall said. "And I'm assuming you know how it works?"

Pete nodded, never taking his eyes off the box that held what had to be Marshall's blood. "In the early nineteen-hundreds, not long after I was turned, some scientists that strongly believed in vampires captured me and locked me in an asylum so that they could run tests. They knew me for who I really was, and their intention, as they told me, was to find a cure to all the bloodsuckers out there in the world," Marshall said.

"So they took your blood and made a cure?" Pete asked quietly. Marshall nodded, opening the box to reveal a gelatin-like mass of blood. "It's only temporary, of course, but it's a mortal cure. And I brought it for you," he said solemnly, locking his brown eyes with Pete's hazel eyes.

"For Patrick?" Pete asked. Again, Marshall nodded, then smiled. "I never had a human lover, but I can tell it in your eyes that you love him with all your heart, Pete."

Pete forced back the memory of what happened not even an hour before. Trying to keep his mind busy, he motioned to Marshall's palm.

"Is this it?" he asked quietly, although he very well knew the answer. Marshall nodded. "It's my own blood, Pete. I would know." He said the last part in an attempt to lighten the mood, but the air remained somber.

Tentatively, Pete held out his hand. "Ryland's going to kill me."

Marshall laughed as he placed the box onto Pete's outstretched palm. He removed the lid and grabbed a thin silver knife. "Travis too," he replied absentmindedly, looking down into the box that contained his blood, part of the solution for the temporary cure. Pete bit his lip and watched as Marshall brought the tip of the knife down into the skin of Pete's forearm.

Blood bubbled up against the silver edge, and before the wound could heal at the vampire rate that it would, Marshall took the knife and dipped it into the box, bringing it back to Pete's wound. He tapped the blade of the knife a few times and scarlet droplets fell into the open wound just before it closed, leaving only a reddened patch of skin behind.

Pete winced. He felt like he could almost feel the blood invading his system, but he kept quiet. Marshall hadn't been really clear on what would happen when they did this, only that it would keep him a human temporarily.

He was hoping that it wouldn't be nearly as bad as being turned. They were both silent until he felt the burning begin in his arm, starting out as just a dull, throbbing pain, then getting worse as it traveled to his chest.

He gasped as he felt like his body had been doused with gasoline and lit on fire. Surely the change back couldn't be this painful… something had to be wrong. He opened his mouth to call out to Marshall, but all that came out was a squeak that morphed into another gasp of pain.

Marshall sat back impassively as Pete doubled over. An electric, fiery shock ripped through him, causing him to twist his spine and cry out. He panicked when he couldn't breathe, but then remembered that, yeah, he had to use his lungs now to stay alive.

This was almost like being turned; the intense pain, the feeling that every muscle and organ in his body was ripping apart and being twisted by an invisible hand. Thankfully, it didn't last three days this time, though that thankfulness was short-lived as a new wave of pain overtook Pete, sending his vision into blackness. When he regained sight, it was visibly less perceptive than it had been seconds before.

His teeth ached as the feral vampire instinct disappeared, taking along with it his fangs and insatiable thirst. There was so much—a _world_ of pain—which Pete couldn't begin to decipher; like how his very bones ached as the burning fire licked every inch of his frame. How his insides twisted and coiled and his heart gave a frightening leap, like it wanted to bash its way straight out of his ribs.

Pete realized how weak he felt like this, with every human quality he had left behind years ago returning in seconds, minutes, _hours_, maybe. _This is all for Patrick_, he thought with a grimace, clenching his fingers to his sides as he fell onto one knee.

A scream threatened to rip out his throat as his chest contracted and closed his airways. Marshall still said nothing. Pete gasped a couple, wet breaths as his heartbeat straightened out to the normal human rate.

What felt like hours was only minutes of excruciating pain, and when he was released from the vice-like grip of agony, Pete stood up straight with some difficulty and put his hand to his chest. The steady ­_thump-thump-da-thump_ of his heart seemed out of place.

The warmth of his skin felt like a hot frying pan compared to his cool vampire skin that he had grown used to over the years. The blood rushed in his ears and his thighs burned as if he had just run a mile. He looked over to Marshall, who was still sitting like he didn't give a care in the world.

When he caught Pete's eye, he smiled and stood up, extending a hand to shake Pete's, saying, "Congratulations, Pete. You're human again."

----

**Pete's now human again. He'll do something next chapter that's going to affect him big-time... R&R please.**


	13. Hold Your Tongue Tonight

**DISCLAIMER: **I own nothing and no one. Warnings for this chapter are: language, slash, vampirism, **boylove**, possible violence. **Do not** read if you are not comfortable with sex scenes between two men. This chapter is very suggestive in the way of sexual situations. Just a warning. And it's also only going to feature Pete and Patrick, since I wanted a chapter for them to just be in love before I moved on. Oh, and late Thanksgiving chapter! :D

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Pete burst into his apartment. _Patrick's too, now_, he reminded himself. Speaking of… "Patrick?" he called, his voice shaking ever so slightly. He took a deep breath—_funny_, he thought, _I actually need to do this again_—and watched as Patrick appeared from his bedroom, looking puzzled. "What's up, Pete? You look…" he said, trailing off as he looked at Pete thoughtfully.

"Happy?" Pete supplied. "Healthy? _Alive_?" He grinned.

"What…" Patrick started. He seemed at a loss for words. "You don't mean you're…"

Pete laughed. "I am. Alive, that is. And finish a sentence, Stump, although you're totally cute when you stutter." He grinned again, stupidly happy.

Patrick stared at him for a few seconds, face carefully blank, battling internally over staying where he was and going over to Pete. His heart won in the end, and he slowly walked over, encouraged by Pete's warm smile, and reached out a shaking hand when he got close enough, splaying his fingers out on Pete's chest and feeling the steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips. "Oh God," he whispered shakily. "Oh, _God._"

"I know," Pete said softly. "It's surreal. I mean, I'm human. Again. And you're here… Patrick, you know what this means." It wasn't a question, nor did they want it to be. It was a statement, saying what they both wanted so much—_had wanted_, from the very beginning. Neither moved, Patrick keeping his hand on Pete's chest as he looked into Pete's eyes, now sparkling with human life, and he knew that _this was it_.

Patrick leaned up the extra few inches and pressed his lips against Pete's. Automatically, Pete's hands were around Patrick's waist, holding him still as he licked at the seam of Patrick's lips. Patrick groaned at the back of his throat, opening his mouth.

This kiss wasn't like their others. There had been unspoken boundaries before, and both had held back. Now, everything was unleashed, and _fuck_, it felt so good.

Patrick whimpered, high and breathy, when Pete pressed flush against him. He brought a hand up to clench at the back of Pete's neck, pulling him impossibly closer as their kiss deepened. Unconsciously, they seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking and headed for Pete's bedroom upstairs without a word. Pete broke the kiss to look at Patrick through heavily-lidded eyes, and Patrick stared right back.

They tangled limbs as they walked up the stairs and into the bedroom, falling onto the bed, one of Pete's legs between Patrick's thighs. "Patrick," Pete said through a moan, the first word spoken in minutes. He moved his lips down, biting Patrick's jaw as he pushed his hands up under Patrick's shirt, stroking the smooth skin of his back.

Pete moved back up to Patrick's lips as he slowly slid up Patrick's shirt, breaking away only for a few seconds to pull it over his head, taking Patrick's hat with it. Patrick flailed for a moment, but Pete pressed a finger to his lips, smiling.

He memorized every angle and curve of Patrick's chest, the way that the skin turned a light shade of red as Patrick blushed under Pete's gaze. Trying to catch Pete's attention again, Patrick rolled his hips, angling his body so that he rubbed up against Pete's dick.

Pete gasped, pressing his hips down automatically. "Your pants," he murmured, fingers traveling down Patrick's stomach, pulling and tugging at Patrick's belt. "They need to be off." He popped the button and unzipped them, taking note of Patrick's sharp intake of air as his fingers brushed against the head of his cock.

He slid Patrick's jeans to his knees, moving so that he could slip them off. Pete leaned back down to press a kiss to Patrick's mouth, fiery and passionate, tangling one hand into Patrick's hair, using the other hand to maneuver Patrick's boxers off.

Pete moved his hands to his own shirt, pulling it up and over his head. He paused after he tossed it over the bed to the pile of Patrick's clothes. He wanted to stay here, all day, find every spot and make Patrick moan so loud the neighbors down the hall would hear.

Instead, Pete made quick work of his jeans, tossing them onto the growing pile beside the bed. He slipped his thigh between Patrick's legs again, pressing a kiss to Patrick's lips before lining up his hips to Patrick's and pressing down tightly. Patrick gasped, back arching. It felt fucking _spectacular_, their cocks brushing together as they kissed.

"Fuck," Pete groaned against Patrick's lips. "I haven't felt this good in so long."

"I haven't either," Patrick murmured. "You're okay, aren't you?"

Pete frowned at the concerned tone in Patrick's voice. "Why—" he started, but cut himself off, catching onto what Patrick was saying. He smiled softly, tossing aside all passion to tenderly run a finger down Patrick's cheek. "I'm fine," he replied, leaning down to gently press his lips against Patrick's.

"You have no idea what you do to me," Pete groaned as he pulled away. "No idea at all, Patrick. I've wanted you since the moment I saw you at your work. There was just this something"—he paused to pepper a kiss to Patrick's nose, then to his cheek—"that _attracted_ me to you. You let me know how you felt, and it turned me on _so much_." He licked a stripe up Patrick's neck.

"Patrick Stump," Pete breathed into Patrick's ear, feeling the tremor run down Patrick's spine, "I'd become human again and again for you."

"Pete," Patrick gasped, tugging on Pete's arm until they were eye to eye. "Pete. I know what you did. That night I stayed here. It was you." Even without the specifics, Pete knew what Patrick meant, and he knew that there was no denying it.

"I did," he said, stroking a hand down Patrick's thigh. "I did, and I'd do it _again_."

Patrick's hands tightened on Pete's arm and his eyes darkened. When he spoke, his voice was deeper and huskier than before. "Then do it again." It was Pete's turn to gasp when Patrick let go of his arm and reached down to grasp Pete's cock, never once taking his eyes off Pete's face.

"Jesus," Pete hissed, supporting his weight with the arm Patrick was holding, bringing his other arm down between them to take both their cocks in his hand, shooing away Patrick's hand, and when he shifted his hips, Patrick gave a satisfied groan.

"Wanna suck you off," Pete muttered against Patrick's neck, sucking on the pale flesh.

"Then fucking _do it_," Patrick replied, eyes bright and expectant.

Pete nipped down Patrick's collarbone, sliding his hands down to the other man's hips before placing a kiss there. Pete met Patrick's eyes for a moment before leaning up to take the head of Patrick's cock into his mouth, sucking lightly before dipping down, bringing a hand up to curl at what he couldn't reach.

"Oh God, _Pete,_" Patrick murmured, head falling back onto the pillows.

Patrick's hand itched to reach down and grab at Pete's hair, but he held off, instead clenching onto the sheets, hips shaking with the suppressed urge to thrust up into Pete's mouth. He groaned, loud and deep, when Pete ran his tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick.

Patrick leaned up when Pete moved back onto his heels and captured Pete's mouth in a kiss so fierce they both toppled to the foot of the bed, this time allowing Patrick to fall in between Pete's legs, carefully aware of how he situated his thighs.

"Fuck me," Patrick whispered into Pete's ear. "Fuck me so hard I won't be able to walk for a week."

Pete went still for a second, swallowing audibly, before he wrapped his arms around Patrick's shoulders, pulling him down to whisper into Patrick's ear, "Wanna fuck you _so hard_, 'Trick." He paused and chuckled, placing a kiss on Patrick's cheek. "But you'd better be supplying, 'cause I've got no condoms. You know, former vampire and all."

Patrick spared a moment's laugh before delving down into the mess of clothes on the floor, feeling around where his clothes were until his fingers met cool foil. He straightened back up, not noticing that Pete had been watching him the entire time, his eyes darker than usual and lips sinfully wet.

"Lube?" Patrick asked, quirking an eyebrow. Pete's brain took a moment to register what Patrick had said, because right now, pretty much all thought did not rush there at all.

"Yeah," he muttered, crawling up the bed to open the nightstand drawer, fishing around inside before retrieving a half-empty bottle. He skillfully ignored Patrick's amused smile, ducking his head as he clicked open the bottle. "Shut up. I've had this for awhile." It was a blatant lie; he had bought this not long before he met Patrick.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Sure," he teased, but moved back to the headboard, situating himself on the pillows, taking a deep breath. It wasn't like he was inexperienced in this area, because he wasn't. But Pete was a former _vampire_. This was just a little risky.

"Patrick," Pete said quietly, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts as he slipped two clean fingers under Patrick's chin so that they could be eye-to-eye. "Listen. I'm still Pete. I still love you. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Patrick nodded wordlessly, the ghost of a smile curling at his lips. Pete smiled back, kissing him sweetly before moving down, leaving Patrick's lips tingling and feeling very lonely. Pete ran his tongue down Patrick's chest, pausing to mouth at both nipples until Patrick groaned loudly. Reaching Patrick's knees, Pete went to lock eyes with him, not moving until he was given a tiny nod of affirmation.

It was uncomfortable when Patrick felt one cool, slick finger slip inside him. He bit his lip, closing his eyes as he tried to will himself to relax. Pete spared him a quick glance, rotating his finger until he heard Patrick give a tiny moan and push down.

"Another one?" Pete asked, pausing. Patrick took a deep breath and nodded. Pete gently slipped another finger inside, stretching and curling at the muscles, and all at once, Pete twisted his hand _just so_ and an electric spark went through Patrick's body with the tenacity of a live wire on the ground.

Patrick arched up, letting an uninhibited moan spill through his lips. "Shit, Pete," he gasped out. "Right fucking there." He pushed down, trying to guide Pete's fingers into that spot again. When Pete brushed his prostate again, Patrick dug his heels into the bed, amazed at how long it had been since he'd done this.

"Pete… Pete, stop," Patrick panted a few moments later. Pete straightened up, a semi-confused look on his face. Patrick instantly felt bad for giving him the wrong message. "It's okay," he reassured. "That just… shit, Pete, I wasn't going to last much longer. Um." He squirmed a little. "Do you think you could—possibly…?"

Pete got the message. He felt around on the bed for the condom, successfully finding it after a few moments. He tore open the foil, rolling it on and slicking up with more lube. Patrick watched him indulgently as Pete moved between his thighs again, leaning down to kiss him.

"Tell me if I need to stop," Pete whispered against Patrick's lips.

Patrick scoffed and wrapped his arms around Pete's shoulders, mouthing at the hot skin on Pete's neck. "Not a chance," he said as Pete groaned and titled his head.

His hands found Patrick's hips, tracing circles as their eyes locked, reflecting love and lust and such a tangible need that Pete knew they shouldn't waste any more time.

With a vocalization that could barely pass for a warning, Pete pushed into Patrick, going slow despite the way that the heat pressed around his cock sent his hips the message to move faster. Pete gasped at the same time that Patrick moaned, the deep sound rich and velvety as it reverberated off the bedroom walls, punctuated with a pained inhale.

The tightness shouldn't have seemed so foreign, but _God_, it had been so long, and Pete reeled in the wake of it, his breath going away for a few painful seconds as his hips jerked in tiny, minute thrusts, waiting for just the right moment.

"Move," Patrick muttered brokenly after a few minutes, pushing back. "Pete. _Please__."_ It was all he needed to hear.

Pete obeyed, setting up a slow, steady rhythm before he changed angles, hitting Patrick's prostate as he picked up the pace. Patrick arched as his eyes slid shut, hands clenching around the wooden headboard, thighs braced against every thrust. His cock throbbed painfully, and just the effort of bringing a hand down seemed too much.

Instead, Patrick moved his legs up to wrap around Pete's waist, catching Pete off-guard for a moment as he faltered in his fluid movements. Patrick smiled, breathily saying, "C'mon, Pete. Keep going for me," as Pete pressed their lips together with crushing force.

The sensation grew as Pete moved, the sound of their sweat-slicked skin-on-skin the sweetest melody Patrick had ever heard, had ever been a part of. He wanted to lose himself in the moment, forget his worries in the miles and miles of Pete's tanned, toned skin, let their lips and teeth do all the talking as hands explored planes never before touched.

In this moment, as Pete panted, golden and beautiful above him, Patrick fell even more hopelessly in love.

In this moment, he realized that he'd do anything to stay with Pete. And as Pete's thrusts became choppier, his groans longer and louder, Patrick felt a tugging, like his heart was on a fishing line, being reeled in with every proclamation of love and every dirty word whispered into his ear.

Patrick managed to bring a hand down that was sore from pressing hard against the wooden headboard to his cock, pumping the best that he could with Pete's thrusts.

"Come for me, Patrick," Pete whispered, eyes dark as sweat accumulated in the hollow of his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his bottom lip as he hungrily followed Patrick's every move.

"Oh shit… _Pete,_" Patrick moaned, thumbing the head once, twice, and that was all it took before he was falling apart, coming between their bodies, a deep moan rolling out of his chest and hanging in the heated air between their bodies.

Pete felt the white-hot pleasure travel down his spine to his toes. He managed a few more rough thrusts, pushing Patrick back against the headboard before he was done, grunting as he spilled into the condom, arms finally giving out as he collapsed onto Patrick's body.

They were silent as Pete pulled out. It was Patrick who spoke first.

"So—"

"I love you," Pete interjected. "And fuck, I'm so sorry for what I almost did to you. That—I shouldn't have let Gabe take me home." He shifted so that he could lay his head on Patrick's chest, hearing the steady comforting heartbeat in his ear.

Patrick smiled, threading his fingers through Pete's coarse, dark hair, moving so that they could both be comfortable. "I love you, too." He sighed, then, and kissed the top of Pete's head. "It's fine. I would never hold that against you, Pete. It wasn't right, no. But. It's not your fault, dude."

Pete wanted to say _yes, I almost killed you_, but he didn't. This was too perfect of a moment to ruin.

The post-coital warmth hazed in Pete's mind. He was still shocked at how _normal_ everything felt; Patrick's body in his arms, the slick heat of their skin sticking together, their heartbeats beating in sync. He nuzzled his nose into Patrick's neck, inhaling deeply. "Love you so much, 'Trick. My 'Trick. My Patrick." His voice drooped with long-forgotten weariness.

Patrick laughed, still carding his fingers through Pete's hair. "Hey. Hey. Don't go to sleep. We need to get cleaned up." He made a face, and Pete laughed. He reached up to stroke Patrick's face, bringing him down for a tender kiss. "Shower?" was his muffled question.

"Read my mind," Patrick replied, laughing as he pulled Pete up and they both started for the bathroom.

----

A light haze covered the bathroom mirrors when the shower curtain was pulled back. Patrick stumbled out, Pete not long after. After only a few seconds of being apart, Pete pushed Patrick against the sink, kissing him fiercely.

"Pete," Patrick giggled, and Pete melted at the sound of his name coming from _those_ lips. It wasn't like Patrick hadn't said his name countless times before. Sometimes it seemed like it was all he could say, almost like he was in awe. Now, as the temperature heated up, Patrick saying his name sounded like a promise.

"What?" Pete teased in reply, kissing Patrick again. His hands wandered down Patrick's sides, stroking and gripping just enough to extract a small moan. "Is it so bad that I'm happier than I've ever been in my whole life?" Pete knew that Patrick wasn't too fond of being without clothes for long, but he had vowed to get him… _used_ to that idea pretty quickly.

Patrick blushed. Pete _was_ a hundred years old and it wasn't like he was his first lover. And definitely not the first man he'd had sex with. But he wasn't going to deny that this was nice, both of them able to finally touch without worrying.

"Hey 'Trick," Pete said, trailing kisses down Patrick's neck, causing the other man to moan and tilt his head, answering Pete the last thing on his mind. Eventually Patrick stuttered out a, "W-What, Pete?" before succumbing again to Pete's lips as he kissed yet lower, sliding slowly to his knees. Patrick's breathing quickened as he bit his lip, trying to keep the noises back.

"Do you know what today is?" Pete asked, licking a stripe down Patrick's stomach.

Patrick groaned and tossed his head back, closing his eyes in frustration. "Ugh, fuck. _Pete_. I don't know what the hell today is. Thursday?"

Pete grinned and pressed a kiss to Patrick's navel, strong hands gripping Patrick's hips as he slid fully to his knees. "And it's not just any Thursday, dude," he said. "It's Thanksgiving. My first one in over seventy years as a human. Wasn't part of the bargain that you'd eat dinner with me before you officially moved in?"

"I don't know—any bargain, dickwad, with the way you're teasing me right now," Patrick gritted out, hands clenching around the ceramic edge of the sink. Pete's hot breath was _right there_, right at the tip of his cock, and it was driving him crazy. Words didn't exactly spring to mind with that distraction. He could remember, though, Pete's question about Thanksgiving and moving in, just vaguely, and he let out a breath through his teeth.

"You win. I remember. Now _please_…"

But Pete was already way ahead of him.

----

"I'm a vegetarian," Patrick pointed out when they walked into the supermarket. Pete smiled and grabbed a cart that was by the front doors. "Good. So am I."

Patrick raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You? Pete, I really don't believe that."

Pete gave him a fake-hurt face over his shoulder. "I wasn't born a vampire, Patrick. I once had morals like you do." He stopped and laughed, remembering back to when he was a kid. "Actually, my mom used to get really mad at me because I'd pretend to eat whatever we were having that night and then go feed it to one of our dogs."

He looked over to Patrick, who was eyeing up the display of sweet potatoes, the same determined expression creasing his brows as when he was sitting at the apartment late at night, poring over a column that was due the next day.

At that moment, Pete realized how _lucky_ he was, to be given a second chance—albeit it wasn't forever—at being a human. It was weird to get these warm feelings about Patrick that were so much more intense now that he actually had a pulse.

Pete reached over and gently grasped Patrick's wrist, catching the smaller man by surprise as he was drawn close to Pete, mouth open as he started to ask a question. Pete took Patrick's open mouth to his advantage and gave him a quick kiss, sneaking just enough tongue that Patrick whimpered and tried to force Pete back into it as he pulled away.

"You need to stop that," Patrick hissed, eyes darting to the other shoppers who strolled by without a second glance, save for an elderly lady and a woman with a young toddler who gave them less-than-warm looks as they passed. "I swear you're going to give me chronic blue balls."

Pete guffawed. "Chill, 'Trick. I just wanted to ask you if you wanted green beans or not." He grinned innocently and nodded to the fresh produce section.

Patrick glared at him, although the corner of his mouth was twitching as he fought off a smile. "In fact, I do. Go get them."

As Pete turned to walk away, Patrick grabbed him by the hood of his black hoodie, pulling him close so that Pete's shoulder was to his chest.

"But you'd better be naked and begging when we get home," he whispered hotly in Pete's ear, nipping roughly before letting Pete go. Pete swallowed and walked off, leaving Patrick standing at the cart, looking smug.

When Pete came back, he quickly looked around, confirming that no one was looking before kissing Patrick roughly, sucking Patrick's bottom lip into his mouth. "Tease," Pete murmured as Patrick's hands grabbed at his ass.

"Hypocrite," Patrick replied when Pete let go of his lip, smirking as he fixed his hat. "Now let's go find us some fake meat."

Pete, in all honesty, felt like a total teenager as Patrick pushed the cart down the aisles, occasionally stopping if he saw something interesting that they could use for their dinner. He could barely keep his hands to himself, and all the knowing little looks Patrick would give him definitely were not helping matters.

"Are you almost done?" Pete asked anxiously as Patrick added another item to their cart.

"Chill, Pete," Patrick mocked. "There's only one more thing left to get."

Pete opened his mouth to rebuke, but then closed it within a second. Something rose in his chest and settled in his throat, almost choking him. If Marshall hadn't come to his rescue with his cure, he wouldn't even be experiencing this right now. He owed the older vampire a lot.

"You okay?" Patrick asked, concerned, when he saw the expression on Pete's face.

"I'm fine," Pete replied, snaking an arm around Patrick's waist, keeping it there even as they walked through the checkout and braved the chilly weather to load the bags into the trunk of Pete's Mercedes.

_If there ever was a better definition for love, let it be this_, Pete wrote that night before he began to help Patrick with dinner. _Happily ever after below the waist._

----

"Food!" Pete exclaimed when Patrick brought the tofurkey to the table. Patrick laughed, setting it down in the middle, standing back to admire their work.

"I didn't know you'd be this excited," he remarked, looking sideways at Pete.

"I didn't either." Pete laughed, kissing Patrick's shoulder affectionately. "You did good, 'Trick."

Patrick blushed. "Dude, no. We both did well. I never actually knew that you could cook."

"What, with all my time alive and no need for actual sleep? You'd find yourself doing some different things too."

Patrick looked down, then, as he sat at the end of the table, fiddling with the cloth napkin beside his plate. "Pete, about that…"

Pete cocked his head to the side, holding the carving knife as he waited for Patrick to continue. Patrick took a deep breath and forced himself to look Pete in the eye, trying his best to keep his voice level. "When this, this… _cure_ wears off, we'll just be back to square one. And I don't _want_ that. I want to have this freedom all the time… forever, if I have to."

"Forever?" Pete repeated. "Patrick, please say you don't mean—"

"I do," Patrick replied steadily. "When you turn back, I want to turn with you. I wasn't lying when I asked you to turn me that night. _I want it_. I love you so much, Pete. Immortality is the perfect way to seal it."

"No!" Pete nearly growled, clenching his fingers tight around the handle of the knife. "I'm not cursing you, Patrick. You think I _like_ being a bloodsucker? You think it's _fun_ to be the focal point of people's nightmares? I hate being dependent on blood to stay alive. I wish I could go back and stop myself from ever getting jumped, because it cost my family their lives as well as my own."

Patrick's eyes widened and he immediately regretted bringing this subject up. Pete blinked furiously, trying to keep back the tears that once again threatened to flood. He hadn't wanted to tell Patrick that, how it was him that inevitably killed his family.

"Forget it," Patrick finally said quietly, looking down. "I'm sorry, Pete."

Pete breathed out and shook his head, refusing to open his eyes until they were dry. When they were, he unclenched his throbbing hand, such an unfamiliar sensation, and began carving, saying at the end, so quietly Patrick almost missed it, "It's okay."

It was, really, Patrick thought as he abandoned his seat at the end of the table to sit next to Pete, brushing their knees together occasionally as they ate quietly. Pete took Patrick's hand halfway through, linking both their hands together as he traced Patrick's ring finger with his own.

And just like that, the fight evaporated and chatter began again, elevating until Pete was laughing and Patrick was tugging him toward the living room, both stripping each other of their clothes without a word, much like before.

They landed in the path of moonlight cast from the tall windows gleaming with black and neon, came together quietly, the fire Patrick had created when they got home flickering in the fireplace, illuminating Pete's apology—the best way he knew how—as they tussled and moaned, eyes gleaming in the silver light. Fluid movements so seamless they didn't seem possible soon melded into irregular, melodic voices taking a crescendo, and it was over like it began; quietly.

Patrick's eyes glinted in the moonlight as he stroked Pete's shoulder. "I love you."

Pete's heart beat furiously as he responded, "Forever."

----

The morning sun rose across the apartment, illuminating Pete and Patrick's sleeping figures, curled up on the hearth. It was Patrick who blinked awake first, blue-green eyes in slits against the brightness of the room. He lifted his head up and looked around, at first not recognizing where he was. It was different, now living in Pete's semi-lavish apartment. He didn't miss his own apartment one bit.

He turned his head and smiled softly at Pete's sleeping figure, chest rising and falling in rhythmic pants, golden skin gleaming with healthy, _alive_ radiance. Quietly, Patrick extracted himself from the cage that was Pete's limbs and slipped on a pair of boxers and a shirt, not really caring whose they were, and began cleaning up the remains of the dinner that they had left the night before.

When Pete blinked awake, he was just as disoriented. At first, he was confused. Hadn't Patrick fallen asleep in his arms the night before? But then he heard water running, and a familiar, strong voice softly singing a song, and he couldn't stop the smile and found its way onto his face. If he could wake up everyday like this, life would be absolutely perfect.

Stretching, Pete got up, yawning before walking into the kitchen. He stood, leaning against the doorframe, watching Patrick's every move as he washed the dishes. It wasn't until Patrick glanced over at the table that he saw Pete, and momentarily his eyes traveled downward, eyebrows raising just the slightest bit when he saw Pete's lack of clothes.

"Underdressed, aren't you?" he asked, flipping the dishtowel over his shoulder.

"Only for you." Pete grinned and opened his arms in invitation, which Patrick took and snuggled in close, wrapping his own arms around Pete's thin waist.

"You should sing more often," Pete whispered into Patrick's ear, kissing his cheek. "I like it."

Patrick snorted. "Would you believe me if I told you that you weren't the first person to say that?"

"Who else did?"

"Bill," Patrick replied simply, and they both laughed, then lapsed into comfortable silence. After a few minutes he asked, "How was your first night of human sleep?"

Pete grinned widely. "God, it was so good. I'd forgotten how nice that could be."

The day was only just beginning, with the sun lightening the once-navy sky to light blue. Pete pulled Patrick back into his room for another shower, then ran back into the kitchen to turn off the sink. All of it was something so normal that Pete's very bones ached for it. But he'd take what he could get.

----

**After this chapter, things start to go downward really fast. R&R! :)**


	14. Oh Baby, You're A Classic

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings are: Slash, vampirism, language, **boysex**, and possible violence. Don't read if you don't like. Duh. There isn't much left after this! :( I'm kind of sad that this story is almost over.

----

It was around noon when they decided to go on a walk together. Pete had never been opposed to sunlight, but too long in it for him was the equivalent of a regular person sitting in the sun for eight hours with no sunscreen. While he had the chance, he wasn't going to pass up the opportunities this cure presented.

The temperature had risen slightly since the early morning, and the sun was beating on the windows, warming the carpet. Patrick strolled out of his own bedroom, looking happy and comfortable as he tugged on a hoodie and a hat.

Pete took his time picking out what he was going to wear. This was going to be the first time they'd be seen in public together, and he wanted everyone to know that Patrick was _his_ and his alone.

He knew he shouldn't really even be worried about what he wore. It was just like he was a normal, unknown person out on the streets. He could eat regular food, drink things that decidedly _weren't_ blood, and, the best of all, he was able to have sex with the man he loved.

_Loved._

The word was foreign in his mind; it sat heavily on the back of his tongue and weighed on his conscious, a word hardly used before that was suddenly making a comeback. If he believed in crappy metaphors and clichés, then yes, he was head over heels in an embarrassing way.

Vaguely, a memory stirred in the back of his mind. Gabe had said the same thing, so long ago, in this very apartment. At the time, Pete didn't believe him. How wrong he was. Though, even with the obvious connection, something was still out of place.

After all, Pete was a hundred-year-old former vampire, while Patrick was a twenty-four-year-old reporter slash writer (Patrick's words) with a naïve smile and a soft, trusting mouth.

If Pete would actually take the time to dissect this relationship, he'd realize that Patrick wasn't as naïve as he put on, and, given the chance, he could do wonders and miracles of his own. He was just never pushed.

Patrick's insistent voice floated down the small hallway as he whined if Pete was ready yet, and a wide smile quickly spread across Pete's face, illuminating the crow's feet that had begun to form before he was turned, telltale signs that he had begun aging before he should have. He grabbed a hoodie and flipped his dark hair one more time before strolling out of his room, taking in Patrick's crossed arms and impatient tilt of his body.

A laugh bubbled up in Pete's chest, and he went to wrap his arms around Patrick's waist, kneading his fingers through the rough material of Patrick's denim jacket. "Sorry," he whispered into Patrick's ear. "I just wanted to look special for you."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Attention whore." He couldn't stop the maniac grin when Pete's eyes widened and a half-shocked, half-amused snort was directed at him.

"But," Patrick said, turning around to grip Pete's collar, pulling them closer together, "you're special any day of the week." The smile he gave Pete was genuine in the way that only endearments can be. He looked down and found Pete's hand, linking their fingers together.

"You look better without clothes, not trying to offend you or anything, 'cause you're sexy as hell," Pete whispered as they stepped out the door, and even though Patrick just laughed loudly at it, he pressed his hip into Pete's as they started down the stairs, not offended at all.

----

Downtown Chicago was a bustle of people getting their Christmas shopping done. Women darted in and out of storefronts, laden with shopping bags from boutiques all over the city, while men hurried by at a brisk pace, constantly looking at their watches.

Pete and Patrick kept it to a leisurely pace, fingers loosely hooked together as Patrick continuously bumped his shoulder against Pete's, biting down his smile when he felt the other man's eyes on him. They didn't plan on doing any Christmas shopping this year, not yet.

Even in their own little world, they weren't oblivious to the stares some people gave their barely-clasped hands as they walked by, and more than once, Pete felt the heat of a scornful gaze on his back as he walked away. If Patrick felt it too, he gave no indication. In reality, his blue-green eyes shone—more blue today—as the tiniest hint of a smile stayed on his pink lips. Pete envied his composure.

Patrick suddenly grabbed Pete's wrist, successfully stopping him as Pete flailed momentarily, eyes wide as he tried to regain his balance, still not used to human clumsiness. "What—" Pete began to ask, feeling that this half-asked question was getting seriously redundant. He was cut off by Patrick's lips pressed firm against his.

He moved his hands to Patrick's waist automatically, tilting his head to give himself a better angle. They ignored the disgruntled mutters of people as they had to step around them, and the even more disgruntled cursing as people realized _hey, two guys are making out in the middle of the street_. One of Patrick's hands pressed against the small of Pete's back, pressing their hips together as he opened his mouth, sliding his tongue over Pete's teeth.

Pete barely contained a moan, licking his own way into Patrick's mouth, sliding his hands up to rest on Patrick's jaw, fingers stroking the skin. Patrick slid his hand between them, brushing against the front of Pete's pants, making a pleased noise when Pete whimpered and bucked against him. He curled his fingers in Pete's hair, gripping at the dark strands.

It just wasn't fair. Pete could barely restrain himself from touching Patrick in public, but this? This was just _too far_, because he could feel Patrick's dick pressed against his thigh, warm and inviting, and he was one kiss away from saying _fuck it_ to people walking by and just doing it _right here_.

He really, really needed help.

Patrick pulled away, smirking smugly, lips wet and swollen, as Pete gasped, hair skewed from where Patrick's hands had tugged. "I… hate you," Pete got out, trying in vain to calm himself down. Patrick laughed loudly, taking Pete's hand as he pulled him briskly up the street, letting the conversation die.

"Has anything changed?" Patrick asked suddenly, swiveling his head to look at Pete as they ducked into a café. "I mean. In your life since you met me."

Pete smiled a little. "Obviously."

The bell above the door jingled merrily as they stepped inside. Almost immediately Patrick felt his numb fingers thaw, and he looked sideways. "Would you ever want to spend forever with someone?" He slid into a booth next to the window.

Pete sat across from him, knowing that Patrick was very obviously hinting at immortality, and since he was temporarily relieved of it, he really didn't want to be discussing this right now.

"Let's just order," he muttered, picking up the menu. Patrick could tell from his tone of voice that the discussion was over before it even began. He reached his hand across the table to lightly touch Pete's, holding it there until Pete looked at him.

"Sorry," he said softly once Pete looked at him. "I'm not trying to be an asshole."

Pete scoffed but didn't say anything. Patrick sighed, leaning back. _Great. That's twice in two days._

"My family was really poor," Pete said a few minutes later, putting down his menu.

"And…?" Patrick asked confusedly, putting his down as well. Pete swallowed, clenching his fingers under the table. This was too hard… these were memories that he didn't want to ever bring back up again. He had to, though. Had to tell Patrick the truth about his past. It wasn't right, keeping this from him.

"We had to fight for food," Pete continued. "My brother and sister... well, they didn't know the first thing about supplying food. So they left it up to me. I had to get a job at thirteen, at the factory in the bad part of town. It wasn't too far from Bill's house, actually, now that I think about it."

Patrick could tell how this obviously pained Pete to even relive this. A spark of determination stayed afire in his eyes, though, and Patrick sat back and let him continue, eventually resting his hand on Pete's knee under the table. This time, Pete let him.

"Everyday, it was the same thing. I'd get up at the crack of dawn and go to work. I'd get home by the time the sun was already down, whether it was summer or winter. And I'll tell you, like, it was so freaky walking down all those back alleys," Pete said, laughing humorlessly. The lump came back and settled in his throat, almost cutting off his next sentence. "It was winter when it happened."

Patrick almost didn't want to hear this. He had a sudden urge to clap his hands over his ears so that he wouldn't have to hear Pete unravel himself, piece by piece, thread by thread. But he loved him. Pete _needed_ to get this out, because it was eating him alive.

Pete gave him a smile that turned out more as a grimace, moving his hand to the top of the table, motioning for Patrick to do the same. When he did, Pete turned Patrick's palm over and laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly like it was his live preserver.

"I remember that it was so fucking cold that night. It had to have been the coldest day of the year so far. I had just finished my shift and I was tired as hell. But, thankfully, it was the end of the month, so that meant that paychecks went home that night. I was so excited, to have the little bit of money in my hand. I remember thinking, _Wow; I can finally feed my family. We can finally eat again_."

"How much—" Patrick began to ask, but Pete cut him off by saying, "Around seventeen dollars. It varied by how much overtime I did, and when I finally got a little more skilled, it went up a few dollars. But we barely even scraped by with that. My dad was the one who worked at first, but when he got injured on the job, I had to go in and take over."

Patrick closed his eyes. "That's horrible," he whispered.

Pete shrugged. "I was used to it. Like, compared to me now… if you think I'm skinny, you should've seen me then. After I had been working for a few years, it started to help me build up muscle, at least. It was like that _everywhere_."

Patrick tried to picture a smaller Pete, eyes wide against the pressing darkness as he edged his way home, money clutched in his hands. A dark monster lurked on the corners of his vision, hungry and vicious, Pete's impending doom sliding like blood off its hideous fangs. He shook his head and waited for Pete to continue.

"I never saw their faces." Pete sighed and clenched his fingers harder against Patrick's hand than he intended, but Patrick didn't say anything. He just listened.

"I-I think that it would've just been easier, you know, seeing who did it?" Pete was sure that that wasn't supposed to come out a question, but then again, what made sense in this story? He couldn't stop now, not with the expectant looks Patrick was giving him or the way his heart fluttered in his chest the same way it had that night.

Patrick saw his troubled look and leaned over to softly touch Pete's cheek. "You don't have to do this," he murmured.

Pete gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Maybe not here." He looked around and back at Patrick. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Patrick nodded, standing up and leading Pete out of the café.

----

They chose a secluded table outside despite the cold weather. They huddled close, hands in each other's pockets; Patrick's in Pete's hoodie, Pete in Patrick's denim jacket, both the closest thing to comfort as they could get. Pete's eyes were vacant and dark as he stared ahead, biting his chapped lips with a ferocity Patrick had never seen before.

"It was fear," Pete said quietly. "Fear was the only thing that kept me from getting completely killed. If I hadn't tried to fight them off, if I hadn't tried to run… maybe I _would_ be dead right now. No chance of coming back."

"Don't say that," Patrick said. "You're alive now and that's all that matters."

"I'm _alive_ for a short time. Any other day, I'm the living dead."

Patrick glared at him, feeling the anger rise up in hot waves in his stomach and claw at his throat. "You're such a goddamn pessimist," he hissed, clenching his teeth.

Pete, taken aback at Patrick's display of anger, blinked and barked out a startled laugh. "Really, Patrick? I'm a hundred years old. I think that's pretty much my bitch-all-I-want-and-get-away-with-it card."

Patrick cracked a smile, though he refused to let Pete off the hook. Pete noticed Patrick's shoulders loosen a bit and he leaned over and nudged Patrick's shoulder. "Look, I won't talk about this anymore, but you can't talk about becoming a—a…"

"Vampire," Patrick finished, and Pete winced.

"Yeah. That. I'll let you know when the time is right, Patrick, because I know. I know how much you want this, and believe me, I do too. But just—not now, alright?"

Patrick nodded, and Pete gave him a dazzling smile. "Good. Then it's settled." He bumped his shoulder against Patrick's, turning to press his cheek against the cold denim. "I love you," he said quietly. Patrick made a noise of agreement, reaching a hand up to run his fingers through Pete's hair.

They stayed silent, people-watching until Patrick pushed Pete up with such a force that Pete was stunned into immobilization. "I've got an idea," Patrick said, eyes gleaming brightly.

All at once, Pete felt his stomach knot and his throat dry up. That look was nothing short of devious. Instead of voicing it, he nodded his assent and let himself be pulled by Patrick, suddenly all-too aware of Patrick's hand against his wrist and how hard and domineering his fingers were against his pulse point.

_Home_, he thought frantically. _There's no place like home and a dominant Patrick to go along with it._

----

"Shit," Pete gasped, hands clutching the sheets as Patrick pounded into him, deep enough that he could feel both the soft curve of Patrick's stomach and the sharp hipbones that lay underneath pressing against his ass.

Patrick had asked as soon as they got home if this was okay, if Pete would really be willing to do this. Pete's answer? A quick _hell yes_ and the rest was proverbial history.

The front door had barely been shut before Pete was slammed against it, Patrick's mouth hard and hot and luscious against his. Quick fingers had made fast work of his hoodie and shirt, and Patrick was kissing every available inch of skin he could get as he worked at Pete's belt and button.

"You're gonna like this," Patrick had said as he bit down onto Pete's shoulder, hard enough to bruise and hard enough that Pete let out a high-pitched yelp. "Trust me." And Pete definitely could trust Patrick, with the way that he was sliding to his knees, mouth slicked and ready and so _perfect_.

He had pushed Pete's jeans down his thighs, licked two fingers of his own into his mouth. Pete had felt his knees tremble at the flash of Patrick's tongue against his pale white skin, and then Patrick was pushing two fingers inside Pete, rough and fast and _fuck it_ if it didn't feel fantastic.

And then they were here, in the bedroom, with cries and moans that they knew were too loud but didn't give a shit about. Patrick was onto something _gold_ with this idea, having Pete on his hands and knees, vulnerable and yet not. Patrick was a complete and utter genius. A mad fucking scientist.

Patrick's hands were hot on Pete's sides, and even hotter as they circled his stomach and wrapped around his cock, jerking in time with his rough thrusts. Pete felt the cool drip of sweat on his back as Patrick leaned over him, biting roughly at Pete's shoulder as he muttered something along the lines of, "Oh shit, _gonnacomegonnacome_," and moved his hips faster, groaning as Pete pressed back against every thrust.

Control, Patrick discovered, was a euphoric high. He could make Pete beg, make him moan, scream if he wanted. _Anything_ was possible. He raked his nails down Pete's back, goosebumps running in the wake of his fingers, and he reveled in it.

Pete grunted and closed his eyes, arms shaking with exertion as Patrick's clever hand brought him closer to climax. It built in the base of his spine and then he was coming with a cry, collapsing onto his arms that were sticky with sweat and heat.

"God, Pete," Patrick gasped, hands gripping Pete's hips to keep his body stable as Pete's muscles contracted around him, drawing out his own orgasm. Black danced in front his vision as he came, clenching harder onto Pete's sides than he would have liked.

"You know what we should do?" Pete muttered into his arms when Patrick collapsed next to him. Raising an eyebrow, Patrick found the energy to look over at him. "Uh, what?"

Pete grinned and turned on his side, taking in Patrick's sweaty hair and sated expression with big, liquid eyes. "We should get a big mirror. One of those floor-to-ceiling deals." Patrick didn't have to think twice about what Pete meant. He shook his head.

"Yeah. Let's not."

"Aw, why not? Can't you see it now? All of our glorious sex, forever captured in our mind's eye…"

"Pete."

Pete sighed and turned onto his back. "You're no fun."

Patrick prodded him with a finger and said, "What if I've got better ways?"

That caught Pete's attention. He rolled over and grasped Patrick's shoulders, looking at the satisfied smirk on Patrick's lips. "It's even better than a mirror? Better than one above the bed?" Despite himself, Patrick shivered. A mirror above the bed… that might be an interesting addition.

"Even better," he replied, still smiling. "Although, if you want to put a mirror above the bed… I definitely won't stop you."

Pete's eyes positively glowed as he asked again, what. Patrick leaned over, breathing hotly against Pete's ear, feeling the fingers on his shoulders tighten as intakes of breath became sharp and obvious.

"How about I ride you, hmm? I know you'd love that. Just wait until later, when the sun's hitting the bed just right," he whispered, trailing his fingers down further and further until his hands were right at Pete's hips. "It's all about timing."

It was, Pete reasoned as he looked at Patrick; how his red-gold hair looked in the late-afternoon sun, shining golden against the white of the pillowcase. He had the post-coital look that changed his age from twenty-four to fifteen in an instant. Sweat glistened like crystals on his skin. And Pete couldn't possibly love him any more than he did now.

----

"Fuck you, William Beckett," Pete groaned as he saw the caller ID flash on the home phone. Patrick laughed—chortled, really—and grabbed it before passing it to Pete. Pete glared at him, then at the phone for interrupting what he had dubbed as _PetenPatrick make-out time_.

"Ugh, what, Bill?" he asked irritably, buttoning his jeans. Bill's answer was loud and almost instantaneous.

"Pete!" Bill cried, the urgency in his voice enough that Pete snapped out of his irritated mood and into a concerned one. "Pete, fuck, thank God I got a hold of you."

"Bill. What's wrong," Pete said, the monotone in his voice turning the question into a statement. Bill never got this hysterical. Ever. It just wasn't his nature.

"Oh, oh shit…" There was a noise on the other end that sounded like Bill had dropped something, and even with less-than-perceptive hearing, Pete could tell from the metallic clinking sound that it had most likely been car keys.

Which… Bill never drove. Unless it was an emergency. Pete felt the beginnings of a panic attack sweep his system, and in seconds Patrick's arms were on his shoulder, his lips against Pete's clammy skin.

"Breathe, Petey," he said quietly, rubbing at Pete's back as he pressed his lips to Pete's neck. "Breathe for me."

"Adam's… Adam's been kidnapped," Bill choked out. "I'm-I'm coming over now. Fuck—Nate's got Adam, Pete! I tried to fight him off, but I-I couldn't. I have to turn you back. I'm so sorry, but it's the only way."

Bill's voice was tinny and distant, but Pete nodded as the room spun around him. Gradually he felt his airways loosen up and his thoughts return to normal as Patrick kissed his cheek again and whispered into his ear.

"It's okay, Bill," he said, and the response was so automatic that he could've laughed. That wasn't the thing to be saying right now. Bill didn't say anything back; Pete heard his car pick up speed instead.

He hung up the phone and turned to Patrick, eyes wide and glassy. Patrick noted with alarm that Pete's hands were still shaking, and he asked, in a small voice, "Is Adam dead?"

Pete ran his hand nervously through his hair. "I—shit, I don't know, Patrick. But Bill has to—he has to turn me back." The last words were hard to get out; they were forced through a roadblock in his throat. "I can't believe that this is happening. Nate wasn't lying; he's not done yet. Bill has to do this." He was repeating himself out of shock, unable to focus on anything else.

Patrick's eyes darted down to the long scar at the base of Pete's neck, remnants of his fight, the aftermath of which had nearly cost Patrick his life. He swallowed and blinked back tears, taking Pete into his arms without a word, both tense and alert for when Bill would knock on the door and shatter the serene world that they had built up around each other.

It all came too quick. Bill's urgent knocks caused them both to jump, and before Pete opened the door, he grabbed Patrick's bicep and pulled him close, his eyes searching deep into Patrick's. "I love you," he whispered, kissing him deep and wet, trying to convey all the messages that he couldn't.

"I do too," Patrick replied, voice cracking. "Just—please. Turn me when the time is right."

Pete nodded, stepping away to open the door, and Bill rushed in. Pete couldn't suppress the gasp at the healing slashes across his face and arms.

Before he could say anything, Bill was against him, telling him that _there isn't time, Pete_, and then he was biting deep into Pete's neck, and the initial pain made Pete try to push away, a scream building in the back of his throat as the burn of the venom coursed through his veins.

Patrick clapped a hand to his mouth, feeling the contents of his stomach turning. Pete's eyes were twisted shut in pain and his hands scrabbled against Bill's back, though his instinctive attempts to fight Bill off were being weaker until, at last, the vampire moved back and Pete crumpled to the floor, two bite marks in his neck and his body eerily still.

Bill looked at Patrick sadly, licking off the last droplet of Pete's blood off his lips in such a way that suggested he didn't enjoy doing that at all. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and Patrick gave him a twisted smile. "I know," he said. "It had to be done, right?" The words tasted like bile in the back of his throat, how he had nearly mimicked what Pete had said.

Bill hesitated, looking down at Pete's body. He leaned down to situated Pete into a position that was flat on his back, and then he sank back onto the couch, his face in his hands.

"How long?" Patrick asked, sitting down next to the vampire, refusing to look at Pete's seemingly-sleeping body. Bill shrugged, gnawing at his lip in worry.

"It should only be an hour or so. His system has already encountered vampire venom, so it won't be three days like it normally is," he replied softly. His hands twitched nervously against his thigh.

Patrick sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, though the words were overused and didn't mean anything. Bill's thoughts were probably the same, since he lifted his face out of his hands and smiled ironically. "We all are, 'Trick."

"What—what's going to happen to Pete, when he wakes up?" This wasn't the question that was burning at the back of Patrick's mind, but he found it too invasive, too emotional, to ask Bill about Adam. He already had an inkling of what was happening to Pete's body, thanks to the small details Pete had bestowed upon him in the past month.

Bill looked at him like he knew that Patrick was just trying to pass time, but he humored him anyway. "The same thing that happens to all vampires. We wake up with a burning, insatiable thirst for blood and have enhanced senses that come in handy."

Patrick sighed exasperatedly. "I _know_ that already. I meant like—will he even remember me?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes, of course he will. It's just a simple turning, something Pete's body is unfortunately used to. But his memory will be a bit fuzzy from his past few human days, so if you guys did anything monumental, you might have to jog his memory a bit."

Patrick's eyes widened. "R-Really?" he stammered. Bill looked at him and raised an eyebrow, and Patrick noticed offhandedly that the scars were almost nonexistent now. He should've been amazed, he knew he should've, but with the way that everything was going, nothing at all surprised him anymore. He also noticed that Bill could tell that there was something he wasn't telling him.

"Really," Bill parroted. "Why?"

"Uh. N-No reason," Patrick said, though he could feel his face flushing. He turned his head and stayed silent, tapping his thighs with his fingertips.

The hour-long silence was awkward and punctuated by snippets of faux-cheerful statements. Finally, Patrick gathered up the courage to ask Bill about Adam. No matter how much he mentally prepared himself, the look of pure anguish on Bill's face was too much.

"I-I don't know what's going to happen," Bill whispered, tugging on his hair. "It just happened too fast for me to even _do_ anything. Adam could be… he could be _dead_ and I could just be too late. I'm so sorry, Patrick. I ruined everything for you and Pete."

"Shh," Patrick murmured, placing a comforting hand on Bill's shoulder, remembering how Adam had done the exact same thing to him when Pete was out looking for Nate. "He'll be fine, Bill. And you didn't ruin anything. Pete and I both knew that this couldn't last without—without me becoming a vampire as well."

Bill looked up and gave him a calculating look, but didn't say anything for a few minutes. When he did, it wasn't about Patrick's plans or even about Adam. "Singer and Marshall are still here," he said. "They're waiting at my house until I get back with Pete."

"But—but you could've sent them after Nate!" Patrick cried. "They're good trackers, aren't they?"

Bill nodded. "They are. I just didn't… I didn't want to risk them getting killed, too. Patrick. Nate's out for much, much more than just blood. He wants all of us, every vampire in the city, dead. He doesn't care how or when, but he wants us dead. And he wants you dead, too, and Gabe, because of what you two know. You're not safe here. None of us are. And unless we all go there together, we'll all die one by one. Singer and Marshall don't live here. It would be stupid and pointless to send them out there."

Just then, Pete began to stir and Patrick was at his side in seconds, hands twitching at the urge to touch Pete's shoulder, _anything_. He didn't, instead keeping his wide eyes trained on Pete's face as he slowly blinked awake.

He wasn't sure if his phobia of touching him was from the fear that Pete wouldn't know who he was, that maybe that part of their lives had somehow become erased in the process of turning back, or that maybe, Patrick didn't want to accept that Pete wasn't human again.

When Pete's vision cleared, it took him a few moments to recognize Patrick. The first thoughts that swirled through his head were tainted by the scent of Patrick's blood and how heightened everything was again, how much the blood scent made something animalistic inside him cry out and scream _kill it kill it it's food_.

"Patrick?" he asked blearily when the shape above him finally turned into something remotely recognizable. "S'that you?"

Patrick choked out a laugh that morphed into a sob near the end. "Yeah. It's. It's me, Pete." He was too afraid to move his hands anywhere near Pete's face, thinking that maybe this time Pete wouldn't be able to control his thirst and Patrick wouldn't be spared at the last minute thanks to some ungodly miracle. Pete's eyes darted around for a few seconds before he slowly smiled, reaching up to grab Patrick's wrist.

"Good," he said hoarsely. "For a second I was afraid that I'd died and gone to heaven or something."

"Oh god." Patrick laughed and wiped at his eyes with his free hand, sniffling. "You're such a _fucking_ loser, Pete." He leaned down and kissed him anyway, feeling Pete hold his breath, and he knew it wasn't the smartest idea in the world, not at all, but now? It just seemed completely wrong not to do this. He pulled back, forehead touching to Pete's as he said, "You'll always be just Pete Wentz to me. Nothing more, nothing less."

He didn't care that Pete's eyes were crimson-red, or that Pete's fangs poked out from the corners of his lips, sharp and ivory and every reminder of how inhuman he was again. This was still _Pete Wentz_, and Patrick loved him.

Then Bill was hovering over Pete, pulling him up and helping him through his unsteadiness. "C'mon. We need to go," he said urgently, then saying, "No. Don't drink anything. Bloodlust is the best weapon we've got." He turned to Patrick. "You're staying." There was finality in his voice, but Patrick ignored him and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"I'm going," he said firmly, eyes cold and unwavering as he stared at Bill. "Pete means as much to me as Adam means to you."

"You're not going," Pete cut in, jaw set as a growl rose in his throat. "I'm not losing you, Patrick."

"We don't have _time_ for this. I'm going with you. I'll be damned if I stay here and worry. There's more than just my life on the line."

Pete looked at Bill unsurely and saw that his friend was shaking his head. "Whatever. Just fucking hurry," Bill said, rushing out of the apartment. Pete looked at Patrick, anger rising, but Patrick brushed past him without a word, following Bill's rapidly retreating footsteps.

"Patrick." Pete's voice was hard as he caught up with Patrick, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning so that they faced each other. "If you get hurt, I don't want to turn you. _Stay out of the way_."

Patrick smiled wryly. "You said you would. I'm holding that to you just as you should be holding to me the promise of riding you when the sun is just right."

Pete gaped at him, grip loosening just enough that Patrick easily slipped away, mood instantly shifting in only the way that Patrick could make it shift. "Jesus," Pete whispered. "That fucking mouth…" His expression then shifted to confused. "What are you talking about?"

He had a hunch, some bit of memory at the back of his mind, but he couldn't seem to grasp it quite yet. Those words seemed familiar; they brought up some other memories that were also nearly impossible to grasp.

"I keep my promises," Patrick replied, undaunted by Pete's surprise. "Do you?"

He hurried down the steps, aware of Pete's presence behind him as they made it to Bill's car. Bill was already inside, face twisted in worry and hands tight around the steering wheel. Patrick was reminded of how Pete used to act before they had sorted this all out; tense, overly alert.

The drive was quick and nervous and when they made it to the shore, the place Pete remembered to have parked before, Bill was out of the car in seconds, while Pete lingered behind, unsure.

"Uh. You coming?" he asked, the awkwardness that hadn't been around since they had first met returning. It was a stupid question, he knew it.

Patrick nodded and then pulled Pete in for a kiss that was quick enough that he hoped it wouldn't drive the bloodthirsty part of him crazy. "Go save Adam, Pete. Be a hero, whatever."

Pete nodded as well and then they were out too, ready for whatever was waiting for them just behind the thicket. Pete's vision was tinged red with thirst, and some of Bill's worry had washed off on him, too. He was ready. Nate wouldn't get away with this; Pete would make sure of that.

----

**Soo sorry for the long wait. I really am. I've been busy lately, and slightly stressed. But anyway, merry Christmas! Or happy Hanukkah, whatever you celebrate. :)**


	15. You're Too Good For Me Pt 1

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings are: Slash, vampirism, language, innuendo, and lots of violence. Don't read if you don't like. After this is done I might have an epilogue showing how everyone reacts to what happens. Maybe.

A/N: Oh God. I am so sorry for the wait. School stressed me out all year, and now that it's over, I'm devoting my time to finishing this story. To those who still read it (and still want to), thanks for dealing with this. You have no idea the sheer amount of revision I've given this story since I first posted it. **These last chapters will be split up into either two or three parts.** There was a lot to write and I didn't want to condense anything. This chapter alone is over five-thousand words.

----

Pete didn't want to speak. The sound was slowly disappearing from the forest; it lacked in the twittering of birds, even the scurrying of small mammals in the undergrowth. Pete could sense Patrick's overwhelming fear-scent; hear his skin chafing together as he nervously twisted his hands.

They were both still a good few yards behind Bill, and Pete was amazed that Bill even knew where he was going. He couldn't bring himself to ask Bill to slow down; he knew he wouldn't if Patrick's life was on the line.

He did, though, grab Patrick's arm, ignoring his squawks of protest, and pulled him quickly through the tangled underbrush. "Pete," Patrick said, voice just this side of panting, "we really, honestly, don't need to go this fast. Eventually, thanks to this beautiful thing called momentum, we're going to catch up with Bill."

"Bill's momentum increases, Patrick. Obviously. For every action there's an equal or opposite reaction."

"God, you are so fucking incorrigible. Did you know that?"

Pete turned his head to grin. "I may have been told that once or twice, yes."

Patrick rolled his eyes, although it was good-naturedly, letting himself be pulled along until Pete stopped abruptly, his grip on Patrick's wrist loosening significantly. He tensed, and with an almost-mechanical move, shoved Patrick into a small clump of holly bushes.

"What the—" Patrick started to say, outraged, but Pete vehemently shushed him.

"Don't move," he growled, "and for God sakes, _be quiet_."

Patrick cowered; he rested his back against a tree as Pete lifted his face and inhaled, curling his lip. Pete briefly turned around to look at Patrick, hidden and holding his breath. A flash of sympathy clouded his face before he bounded off, a flash of red hoodie and black jeans.

----

Patrick wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, brushing ants and beetles and fuck knows whatever other disgusting insect off of himself. Worry ate at the lining of his stomach, settled deep into his joints because he knew, he just _knew_ that Bill and Pete were standing in a clearing, waiting, waiting, waiting for death. For anything.

This was such an insane fucking idea. It was a _horrible_ idea, if Patrick wanted to be honest. Pete was always trying to be a hero, and for now, that angered Patrick to no end. He knew Pete loved him, possibly even more than that, but he just never listened.

"I hate you so much sometimes, Pete-fucking-Wentz," Patrick said, angrily ripping a green leaf from one of the holly bushes.

Deep down, it was only anger forcing him to say these things. He would never truly hate Pete. Bill probably hated him, though, since he had let Patrick make the stupid decision to come along. And what was worse was that Pete _agreed_. Didn't say anything about danger or death; just let Patrick go on his stupid whim and throw himself right into the middle of this fracas.

Patrick knew that he had willingly gone, so it was as much his fault as Pete's, but the petulant child inside him neglected to see that part. Sometimes, even though this was the best few months of his life, he wished that he'd never met Pete.

When ten minutes, then fifteen minutes went by without a sound, Patrick got up and headed for the direction that Pete had gone, ignoring the rational side of his brain that told him that this was a dumb idea and that he was fucking insane for even tagging along in the first place.

_He could be dead_, he thought._ Maimed, slaughtered._ Did vampires drink from other vampires willingly?

Patrick shuddered, stopping on the south side of a small sapling. It was a macabre thought. The only thing he could do was be positive. Keep his head up and be brave. But exactly how being brave in the face of bloodthirsty vampires would save his life, he didn't want to find out.

----

Bill stood, tall and straight, while Pete loped up behind him. "Any sign of him?" Pete asked. Bill shook his head, mouth parted to taste the wind. Pete could see the dim light glint off his fangs.

He knew from obvious experience that if Nate even came in the first place, he wouldn't show himself yet. Someone else from his coven would come first, and if they did, Pete would make sure that they suffered the same fate as Chizz.

A rustle, barely perceptible, was heard from far left, and both Bill and Pete's heads swung in that direction, tense, poised, ready.

Bill's eyes went dark and a growl rose in his throat. He could scent Nate, but he could also scent Adam. The hostile part of him wouldn't allow for compassion right now. If he wanted to stay alive he wouldn't break, even for Adam.

Pete noticed Bill's changes in mood, could scent his anger and fear. Inner turmoil flashed like toiling waves behind Bill's brown eyes. Pete could see the want and urge to save Adam, get the hell out of here and forget this all happened; could see the burning hatred for Nate, for all vampires for putting him in this situation. Adam wasn't a part of that puzzle, which Pete could only decipher as if that part of Bill were to be dominant, they'd all be lucky to come out of the woods alive.

Pete noticed Bill's changes in mood, could scent his anger and fear. He wasn't sure how much longer Nate would hold this out unnecessarily.

"Get out here, you fucking coward," Bill whispered, clenching his hands into fists. "Stop hiding."

From a part in the trees a few yards away, a tall, slim figure materialized, taking slow, steady strides towards the two other vampires. When the figure got closer, Pete could make out short, brown hair, young features, and glowing red eyes.

Bill, however, openly gasped. Pete gave him a questioning look, but all Bill did was take a step toward the tall vampire, hissing. "Ryan," he said coolly. "I had wondered what happened to you."

Ryan, Pete figured, laughed. "Bill," he replied, voice monotone, and Pete wasn't sure if it was intended to be like that, or if Ryan really never used inflection when he spoke. "It's been too long."

"Fuck you," Bill snapped, pulling back his lips. "You didn't even try to kill me. You just left me to live like you do. Cowardice isn't a good look for you, Ross."

Ryan folded his arms across his chest. "I'd hardly call that cowardice. I think what you did was cowardly, with the way that you snuck into those strip clubs, and you never told anyone you were seeing me." He feigned hurt, hand flat on his chest. Pete could see that it was all an act. "That hurt me, Bill."

Pete's eyebrows flew up in shock. "What?" he spluttered, looking at Bill. "You were _seeing_ a stripper?"

Ryan glanced at Pete. "See, now that's how people would have reacted. If you had told them just once it would have all been over and you could have died when the rest of your stupid, pretentious family did."

"I doubt that," Pete said, stepping forward. "Not with assholes like you."

Ryan let out a growl, turning to Pete. "And who said you could talk, you filthy human-lover?" he spat. "I don't remember _you_ being there that night."

A flood of memories attacked Pete. He could see the dark alleyway, smell the blood from the figure on the ground and hear the taunting laughter from the ring of vampires. It struck him suddenly, and in the small space of a second he lunged at Ryan, pinning him to the ground.

"You did it," he said, fangs bared. "You left Bill when I came into the alley."

"Right," Ryan replied, grinning. He looked up at Pete with serenity, licking his lips. "Bill had it coming to him."

"It was four against one," Pete snarled. "One human against four vampires."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "So?"

"So," Pete hissed, gripping the collar of Ryan's shirt, "you're a coward. I don't care if you say you aren't, because I know that's bullshit. And now since you're working for Nate, things must've not gone as well as you'd hoped for, did they?"

Ryan hissed, glaring up at Pete with smoldering hatred in his eyes. "Like you're one to talk. Cavorting around with a human, running to older, wiser vampires for a cure that's only temporary." He stopped and leaned up, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You're stuck like this for the rest of eternity, Pete. Just like all of us."

"Stop bringing Patrick into this," Pete said, hands itching to rip out Ryan's throat and get this over with. "He hasn't done anything."

"That's what you think," Ryan shot back. "He's endangering our secret. He's a fucking _journalist_, Pete. Are you so under his spell that you don't realize that he could turn on you in an instant and out all of us to the city?"

A flash of fear struck Pete's body, but he shoved it aside. "No one would believe him."

"It doesn't matter. People would get suspicious, and suspicion leads to us getting burned like it's 1720 again."

"Then stop attacking people!" Bill screamed from off right. He moved in, a blur of limbs, and shoved Pete out of the way, pushing Ryan hard against the trunk of a tree. "You think you can get away with kidnapping Adam?" Bill hissed, eyes glowing as he leaned in, fangs bared.

Ryan snorted but made no move to try to push away or attack Bill. "I think we did," he replied.

Bill reared back and slashed Ryan across the face. Ryan's head jerked sideways from the momentum, and when he turned back, four ugly, red marks were slowly healing back up. Bill moved back, gritting his teeth together.

They were both silent, neither moving from their spots. Ryan examined Bill with tranquility, like he wasn't aware that they weren't giving up anytime soon. "You won't win," he said quietly. "Nate isn't alone."

"I don't care," Bill snarled, grabbing the front of Ryan's shirt. "At least I'm not hiding behind others."

"We're stronger than you," Ryan replied, and Pete noticed that yes, Ryan _never_ used inflection when he spoke. "So I'd suggest you run off because you're obviously wasting our time. And, while you're at it Bilvy, why don't you tell the precious story of our ill-fated romance to Pete here? I'm sure he'd love to hear it."

Ryan tensed up like he expected another slap, but instead Bill recoiled. "Don't call me that," he said quietly.

"Oh, is that what Adam calls you now too? I thought I'd been the only one to ever think it up. Small world, I suppose."

Pete stopped Bill before he could do any more damage to Ryan. "Tell me," he said quietly, soothingly, facing the lanky vampire. "I know you need to get it off your chest, Bill."

Bill sighed and slouched his shoulders, shrinking seemingly before Pete's eyes like a deflating balloon. "There's not much to say." His voice was tired, defeated with a years-old secret. "I went to that strip club—I can't even remember the name now, like I want to—and saw Ryan, who was a regular there. Just… I was fucking young and stupid, Pete. I didn't know what to do. I thought it was love."

Ryan scoffed. They ignored him, although Bill considerably tensed up. "Did you ever know he was a vampire?" Pete asked.

A shrug. "I think so. And it wasn't long after that that he got his friends to jump me."

Pete spared a glare in Ryan's direction that was returned with a honey-sweet smile tainted by the view of fangs. "At least you're alive."

"Not so much if Adam isn't safe, though, is it?" Bill asked quietly, words hitching in his throat.

Before Pete could answer, breeze picked up, brushing the strong scent of vampire to Pete's nostrils. He could scent Ryan—obviously because he was right in front of him—but he could also detect another scent, one that had been familiar what seemed like eons ago.

"Sorry, Bill," Pete responded. "I really am."

Bill said something in reply, but to Pete that could have been a whole continent away. He was only concentrating on the trouble he was inexorably going to face in the next few seconds.

"Pete," Nate said from the shadows, concealed while his voice floated over the wind. "I'm glad to see you here."

"I could say something different," Pete replied. "I can't believe you're still going at this, Nate. Since when have the rest of us become a concern for you?"

"You know why." Nate suddenly appeared in front of Pete, who didn't even flinch. "I told you before. That stupid human of yours is going to get us killed. Unlike you, I _don't_ want to mainstream."

Pete could've laughed. "You think I want to mainstream? Hate to break it to you, but if I wanted to do that, I would've by now and not bothered with you."

"It's vamps like _you_"—Nate sneered the word disgustedly—"that are the reason our very existence is endangered. Besides, I know that you never wanted to be a vampire before you were turned. You don't have the gall to be how we're meant to be."

"Is it such a crime to have a heart, now?"

"Not so much that, Peter, but more like… our sole purpose on this earth is to be the undead. Drink from others, kill for food. We're not meant to be in the limelight. No one was supposed to know we existed."

Pete scoffs. "So you're blaming the human realization that vampires aren't just made-up monsters on me? How chivalrous of you, Nate. I'm not quite sure that I remember you this way."

"Not sure I remember you as so _soft-hearted_ either," Nate shot back. "But then again, I suppose you've always been like this, right, having died to protect your family." He paused. "Oh, right. You didn't. You ran away the minute you were turned and let your family suffer because of you."

Abandoning his calm composure, Pete lunged at Nate, catching him off-guard as he grabbed his shoulders and pinned him to the ground. "There're things I let filth like _you_ get away with," he said, taking Nate's emphasis on "you," hovering only inches from the other vampire's face, "and then there's the things that go too far."

"Touched a soft spot, didn't it?" Nate hissed, grinning gleefully. "It's those pathetic human emotions that are going to be the death of you."

"Oh just shut up," Bill said from a few feet away where, apparently, he'd abandoned Ryan, who was still against the trunk of the tree, watching the scene before him with bored, hungry eyes. If he'd been human, Pete could've painted a coffee shop and a journal around him.

Bill edged forward, cautious and bold at the same time. Nate paid him no mind. It wasn't until Bill was next to him, crouching down, that Nate reacted. "What did you do with Adam?"

Nate scoffed. "He's fine. You honestly think I'd lose my best bargaining chip so soon?"

Bill's eyes lit up in fury. "Bargaining chip?"

And with that, Bill pushed Pete out of the way, wrapped his fingers around Nate's throat, pulled him up, and punched him. With a scream of fury, he lunged at the startled vampire while Ryan attacked Pete.

Like blue flies to a dead carcass, more shapes emerged from the shadows, flanking the clearing like immortal statues. Out of the corner of his eye as he grappled with Ryan, Pete saw Adam—how he got away Pete didn't know—and two other vampires come out on Nate's side.

Pete thought he saw a flash of black fedora and red hair blend in with the bushes, but he blinked and the vision was gone. Passing it off as a worried hallucination, Pete dodged a kick Ryan aimed at his knees and punched the other vampire in the stomach.

As he doubled over in pain, Pete moved away to let Bill take his place. The other two vampires hadn't moved from their spots on the edge, but Pete saw, with a momentary flash of panic, that Adam was steadily slinking into the fight.

Pete started to yell out Adam's name, to warn him, but he stopped himself. No one else had seemed to notice him just yet; maybe if he was quick enough…

A blow to the head sent Pete sprawling and snapped his attention from Adam to the foot coming down to connect with his chest. He rolled out of the way and jumped back up, advancing on Nate with a furious snarl.

"You're pathetic," he growled, "attacking me when I wasn't paying attention."

"You don't seem to realize how much danger you're in, do you?" Nate asked with a lazy lilt to his voice.

"The same statement could be said for you," Pete retorted.

Nate's eyes glowed as he and Pete circled each other like two lions refusing to turn their backs on each other. "If you're alive after tonight you just might realize there are some vampires that nobody dares to mess with," Nate said.

"People were trying." Pete narrowed his eyes. "Ryland and Travis weren't just sitting on their asses waiting for you to just stumble into their trap."

"I'm shocked," Nate said dryly. "It seemed like it."

"Is _everything_ about you?"

Smirking, Nate replied, "Most of the time."

Moving with the speed of a fish in water, and with the force of an anvil, Nate bowled Pete over, pinning him down. Pete had a quick flashback to his fight with Chizz and felt fear snake through his stomach.

"Are you scared?" Nate whispered, fangs glinting ominously as he hovered over Pete, hands gripping Pete's wrists above his head.

"Didn't know you were the kinky type," Pete spat, growling.

Nate's lips pursed thoughtfully. "How cute. I hope you're not getting images of that disgusting human, because God knows how pathetic that would be for your final thoughts."

Pete hissed, twisting his body in an attempt to loosen Nate's grip. It had no effect on the other vampire's hold.

Nate looked over his shoulder, venomous eyes scoping out the others that had come to the clearing. Swiveling his head behind him, he gave Pete just enough room to see that Bill and Ryan were grappling, and, by what Pete could tell, Bill was winning.

"You!" Nate snarled, inclining his head toward a baby-faced dark-haired vampire. "Brendon. Go over there and kill that stupid vamp."

"No!" Pete used his knees for leverage against Nate's torso, prying him away from his body. Nate's grip was still tight on Pete's wrists, and in a matter of milliseconds he was moving again, ready to administer the slash to Pete's throat that would kill him.

Using all the strength in his upper body that he could, Pete twisted upward, pushing off the ground with his heels. He pinned Nate to the ground, kneeing him in the stomach so that he would drop his hold on Pete's wrists.

Pete raised his hand, ready to swipe down; when from behind him he heard a bone-chilling scream. Afraid that the scream was Patrick's, Pete turned around just in time to see Ryan crumple to the ground, blood pouring from the stump where his head used to be.

Bill was panting heavily; a human trait left over, and was splattered in bright red blood. Pete caught a glimpse of Ryan's head lying a few feet away from his limp body.

The other vampire, the one Pete had addressed as Brendon, looked at Ryan's lifeless body in shock. He stood still as his eyes never wavered from the carnage at his feet.

When he looked up, his mouth was twisted in a fearsome snarl, chasing away any of the boyish looks he had retained from before. "I'm going to kill you," he hissed, advancing on Bill was steady, measured steps. "You killed Ryan."

Bill held his ground, standing tall and defiant. "If you hadn't kidnapped Adam your stupid boyfriend would still be alive."

Brendon's jaw clenched in anger. "He wasn't my _boyfriend_," he sneered. He held up his left hand, where a silver band glistened in the dim light.

If this news surprised Bill, he didn't show it. He kept his mouth in a thin line, although Pete could see his fists clench at his sides. "So kill me now," Bill said lowly. "I suppose dying is better than living like this while the rest of the world dies off and implodes."

"Bill, don't!"

Everyone's heads whipped to the noise, and a few seconds later Adam was in front of Bill, arms spread wide to protect Bill's body. He snarled at Brendon. "Don't you dare fucking touch him."

"Adam?" Bill squeaked, brown eyes widened in disbelief. "Where did you—?"

Adam shook his head. "Never mind that." He turned his head to face Brendon again. "You touch him and I'll kill you where you stand."

Brendon gave a simpering smile. "Don't be hasty, Adam. We kept you alive, didn't we? Are you really going to bite the hand that feeds you?"

"I'll bite the hand that tries to kill my boyfriend," Adam shot back. "He's done nothing to you."

"Oh really? Turn your head about forty degrees to your left."

Adam barely glanced over. "I meant nothing of importance."

Brendon stared at him for a second, eyes wide, before he leapt, tackling Adam to the ground. "You'll rue the day you ever said that," he growled, mouth open and fangs bared in hatred. "I'll send you right where you belong, you filthy human sympathizer."

"Adam!" Bill screeched as Brendon grabbed Adam's head and twisted it violently. The sickening cracking sound resonated through the clearing.

"That was just a test," Brendon whispered down by Adam's ear. "This is the real thing."

He reached down, slicing a thin, clean line across Adam's throat that instantly began to bleed profusely. Moving away, Brendon gave one last snarl and glare to Bill before running away to disappear into the woods.

"Adam," Bill whispered, kneeling down by his side. Weakly, Adam looked at Bill, smiling. He opened his mouth but Bill instantly put his finger to his lips to quiet him. "You won't be able to speak." He swallowed, leaning down to replace his finger with his lips.

"I love you," he whispered. He felt Adam nod once and then nothing.

Getting up, shaky as a newborn colt, Bill looked at Pete once. Pete nodded and Bill ran off, disappearing into the woods like Brendon had.

Turning back around, Pete barely registered shock when he saw that Nate had gotten up and wasn't anywhere else to be seen. The rest of the vampires still stood like guard statues at the edges of the clearing on Nate's side.

Pete looked at them, eyebrows furrowed. "Where did you go, Nate?" He clenched his fists at his sides. "Stop running away when the going gets tough."

"Oh, it's only just begun." Nate's voice drawled deep and low, tinted with a bit of taunting that somehow chilled Pete to the bone. Pete could detect his footsteps on the ground, coming from the side of the clearing he and Bill had come in on.

"I think you'll find you're missing an important possession," Nate said, stepping into view. Pete's voice caught in his throat as he saw, in Nate's clutches, a very scared and very sorry looking Patrick Stump.

----

Patrick could hear the hissing and growling, an unearthly sound that chilled him to the bone. Instinct was telling him to run, but he couldn't stop. He _wouldn't_ stop. Pete was out there, in horrible danger, and it was like Patrick was running on autopilot. Death wasn't an option. It didn't even exist.

Even with human senses he could smell the blood. It choked his lungs and twisted his stomach, but he kept going, avoiding looking at anything that was splattered in red.

At the edge of the clearing a familiar body lay sprawled out, and as Patrick approached with a sick sense of doom, he abruptly stopped when he recognized the face.

_Oh shit_, he thought, tears brimming at the closed creases of his eyes. _T-That's Adam._

They had come through here, a whirlwind of slashing teeth and tearing hands. All at once Patrick wanted to cry over the loss of someone—although they'd just met—who wasn't deserving of death just yet, and he wanted to exact revenge on the vampire who did this, whether it was Nate or one of his followers.

He'd snuck up here before the fighting had begun, quietly watching from the bushes as more vampires appeared. As soon as Pete had glanced in his direction Patrick had left, and right now he couldn't be gladder of that decision.

_I could have died. That could've been me instead of Adam. And since I'm human, I can bet that they would've spared him for me._

He instantly felt guilty. While being noble and sacrificing himself to save a—friend? Acquaintance?—seemed like a good idea in books and in his head, acting it out in real life would have real consequences, one of which could be a death not even turning him would stop.

Leaving the semi-safe cover of the trees wouldn't be a good idea, that much he did know. He couldn't expect Pete to be there and save him every moment of the day.

A little part of him told him to _go, make sure Pete, Bill's, okay_. The coward in him told him not to. The forest was safe; they'd never come looking here, not while there was blood to be spilled in the clearing.

_And blood is never wasted on vampires_, Patrick thought ruefully.

He kept out of view, hiding behind tree trunks and bushes. The only sounds he could hear were Bill's talking with another vampire from Nate's coven, but that was gone now that Bill had fled past him minutes ago. He refused to think about Adam.

Once or twice he thought that he heard Pete's voice, tight with worry and anger, but now all was quiet. He looked around, waiting with bated breath for something to happen, but when it did he was still taken by surprise. Literally.

"Let me go!" Patrick hissed, struggling against a pair of too-strong arms. _Vampire arms_, he thought with sickening realization. He turned his head to look up and was met with a pair of blood-red eyes, no white at all, and dark brown pupils that seemed out of place in the nightmarish eyes.

"Nate," Patrick whispered in fear.

The vampire holding him nodded, grinning cruelly. "You must be Pete's new boytoy, Patrick." He gripped him tighter, constricting Patrick's lungs. Patrick refused to show any signs of struggled breathing, but he knew Nate could hear it.

"Oh," Nate cooed saccharinely, "having trouble breathing are we?" He tightened his grip a fraction of an inch tighter. "Let's see what Pete thinks of you lurking in the bushes while we have some very important details to attend to."

Patrick struggled against Nate's hold to no avail. "Leave me out of this," he gasped. "Pete'll do something stupid and irrational if he sees me."

Nate clucked in sympathy. "Pity that that's exactly what I'm looking for." He stepped forward, hoisting Patrick with him like he weighed nothing. "Let's go see what Pete has to say about this, hmm?"

He stepped into the clearing, and Patrick could only close his eyes and pray to come out of this alive—in one way or another.


	16. The Very Best Thing I've Ever Done

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Warnings are: Slash, vampirism, language, innuendo, boysex, death, and lots of violence. Don't read if you don't like.

A/N: LAST CHAPTER! It feels so weird to finally be done with this story. Reviews and concrit would be lovely :)

----

"Let him go," Pete whispered, voice dangerously low. His eyes conveyed a desperate message to Patrick's that Patrick somehow interpreted.

Nate shook his head, smiling crookedly. "I think not. I may have lied earlier when I said that Adam was my best bargaining chip." He pursed his lips in thought, running his fingers lovingly along the line of Patrick's throat. "That turned out to be such a disappointment. _Patrick_, though, has proved to be an able one."

Pete's teeth clenched in anger. "Let him go," he repeated. "None of this was even his idea in the first place, Nate. He only met me through Bill. He didn't want to be involved in vampire affairs, nor did he want to know that Ryland and Travis were on the lookout for you."

"I'm not worried about that," Nate replied. "See, the thing is, he _stuck_ with you. Didn't run off when you told him you were a vampire. He loves you. And love is a dangerous thing, is it not?"

Pete bared his teeth in answer.

Nate laughed coldly. "Don't be so hasty to hate, Pete. Otherwise, Patrick here"—he drew his nails along Patrick's throat, pushing in enough to make Patrick sputter a bit and wince—"he'll die. Plain and simple. Clear enough for you?"

"Crystal," Pete muttered through clenched teeth.

"Good." Nate smiled. He pulled Patrick closer to him and Pete's body tensed up, anger pulsating through every atom. Nate noticed this and kept smiling, pretending to contemplate while he spoke.

"What do you think I should do if you go through with what I'm telling you to do? Let Patrick go, or simply…" he gripped Patrick's cheeks in his hands, roughly twisting his neck sideways so that he could look at his face, see the fear etched into every pore, "let him die?"

Pete snarled loudly, black hair falling into his eyes. "You let him die and I'll rip you to shreds."

Nate shook his head. "Too many death threats today, Pete. One more isn't going to faze me. I live my life off of carnage." He bared his fangs. "And the blood of pretty humans."

Pete bit back the retort that ached to slip off his tongue. He knew from experience that keeping his cool with Nate was the only road he could possibly choose right now, for both his and Patrick's sakes.

"Fine," Pete said with fake complacency. "We'll talk it out, okay? None of us gets hurt. I just want to know why you're doing this."

Nate laughed, catching them all off-guard. "'None of us gets hurt'? What about Chizz, Pete? Did you say the same bullshit to him?"

Pete's mouth opened to speak but for once, no words could come out. At the time, he hadn't felt bad about killed Chizz. He'd just been another obstacle in Pete's way to Nate. He still didn't feel that bad about it, especially with Nate asking the questions.

But with Patrick's life so precariously on the line? He couldn't take chances now. Better to pretend to sympathize than to not do anything. "I'm sorry," Pete replied. 'I was just—with the whole Gabe thing, I didn't know what to do."

Nate scoffed but didn't press the matter. Patrick, however, was having none of it. He struggled again, doing an impressive imitation of an angry vampire as he snarled at Nate. "Seriously, fucking _let me go_. I'm not going anywhere without Pete."

Nate sneered at him. "Sorry, no can do, Stump. One thing I've learned is to trust no one. People are at their most honest when they're about to die. And since you're not dying, _yet_…"

"Enough!" Pete snarled, losing it. He took a step forward, fangs bared, eyes glowing unearthly red and muscles quivering. "Either you let him go or we all go down."

"Empty threats," Nate trilled, moving his arm up to press against Patrick's throat, effectively stopping Pete from moving closer in fear that Nate would strangle Patrick. "You said you wanted to know why I went to all the trouble to do this, didn't you? It's simple. Those fucking hunters killed Victoria, and what's life without love?"

"Gabe told us, maybe—"

"No," Nate growled, jaw setting. "Gabe's a fucking coward, just like everyone else. He left me when the going got rough, and I come back to find out he's a messenger. A fucking messenger." He paused and shook his head in disbelief. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"Your best friend?" Patrick got out, swallowing with difficulty.

"Not when I came back he wasn't. He was repulsed."

Pete stepped forward and Nate instantly was on the defensive, pressing if fingers to Patrick's throat, drawing out a gurgling, choking noise from him. "Step closer and you'll regret it, Pete," Nate snapped.

With a sigh of defeat Pete fell back, exhaling through his teeth, fangs scraping against his bottom lip when he bit it. "This is useless," he stated. "Holding Patrick hostage isn't going to make me any more companionable and it definitely won't make you intimidating. Not that you ever were in the first place."

"Pete," Patrick warned, hyper-aware of the brute force quivering in Nate's body and how close he was to dying. One slip up and Nate could do whatever he wanted.

Pete ignored Patrick's plea and narrowed his eyes, glaring at Nate's dirt-stained face and ragged clothes with distaste. "Reckless. That's what you used to be, Nate. Reckless to an extent. Now you're just being stupid."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? By what Gabe says, you took risks but still cared for your friends. And it seemed you cared a lot for Gabe as well."

"You're wrong!" Nate screamed, lips pulled back to show the deadly ivory of his teeth, sharp points of his fangs raised barely above his bottom lip. "Gabe doesn't know shit. He's just flattering himself. I loved Victoria, not him."

Pete smirked. "Denial is a beautiful thing."

Pete saw it coming, knew what he had just done was dangerous and stupid and just as reckless as Nate was being. He knew, as soon as the last words left his mouth, nothing good would come out of this.

"Love is a useless emotion," Nate replied smoothly, holding Patrick out at arm's length, strong hands gripping the other's biceps with crushing force. He licked his lips as his eyes scanned Patrick's body, lust showing as a dark glint in his red eyes.

He pulled Patrick back to his chest, holding him still with one hand while the other reached up to tip Patrick's neck to the side, ignoring Patrick's squeaks of fear and his futile struggles to move his head back. Nate leaned down and inhaled deeply, hissing in delight.

"Blood is sweet," he murmured, glancing up to see Pete tense, fists clenched and jaw set in anger. He licked a circle around Patrick's carotid. "But even sweeter when it's stolen."

He positioned his fangs above the pulse point, felt Patrick whimper and squirm in his grasp, tendons in his neck tensing in anticipation.

Suddenly Nate spun him around, keeping one hand on his neck as he raised the other. It was like it was slow motion for Patrick, who watched Nate lift his arm, muscles flexing smoothly under tough vampire skin, a horrible howl detaching itself from his throat.

Patrick winced as behind him Pete screamed, rushing forward. In the next second, before Pete could tackle him out of the way, Nate brought his hand down, slashing a clean line from Patrick's collarbone to the side of his ribcage.

With a gasp of pain Patrick collapsed to the ground, blood welling up between his fingertips where he grasped his side. He felt the bone, slick and hot, under his fingertips and he gagged.

"What did you do?" Pete screeched, pushing Nate against a tree trunk and balling his shirt in his fists. He lifted Nate a few inches off the ground in his anger.

Nate just laughed. "I did you a favor. One less poison in your life."

Pete snarled, pushing his hand against Nate's throat. "I'll fucking kill you."

"Then do it! Just kill me and get it over with, Pete." Nate's voice was desperate and wild.

"You asked for it," Pete replied. He reached up into the tree and snapped off a dead branch.

"See you in hell," he hissed, raising his arm and driving the limb through Nate's chest. For a second Nate looked at him with a glimmer of hatred in his eyes that was quickly replaced with regret and pain before he went still.

"People are at their most honest when they're dying," Pete reiterated, muttering. From behind him he could hear Patrick breathing wetly, occasionally coughing and screaming weakly in pain as a movement jarred his wound.

Pete instantly turned around and knelt down at Patrick's side, biting his lip as he looked into Patrick's eyes, ignoring the flecks of blood on his face. He pushed hair out of Patrick's eyes.

"Shit, Patrick," Pete breathed, closing his eyes.

If Pete could throw up, now would be the time. The ugly gash that gaped across Patrick's chest bubbled red, staining the edges of the ripped shirt Patrick still had on. Blood pooled and spilled down the sides of Patrick's ribcage, a hint of which Pete could see gleaming whitely in the dark light of the forest.

He didn't have to force himself not to attack at the sight and smell of freshly-spilled blood and wounded creature; the only things on his mind right now were ways of trying to help Patrick that _didn't_ involve cursing him.

"Pete," Patrick rasped out, coughing slightly, voice determined like he knew what Pete was thinking. "D-Do it."

Pete shook his head like there was a pesky fly circling him. "I can't," he said, voice cracking. "I know I said I would, but Patrick… you won't like life after you've become one of us."

"I'll die. I _am_ dying, Pete."

He was right; there wasn't much time left for Pete to decide what to do. He looked at Patrick's lips, shining wetly with coughed-up blood, his rapidly-dulling eyes that still somehow held a spark of hope, of life.

He was amazed that even though Patrick had to be in an immense amount of pain—Pete could tell he was by the way his eyelids kept fluttering and every other inhale would be sharp and prolonged—he was speaking as rationally as one could get in this situation. It was this revelation that spurred Pete to do what he believed to be the right thing.

"I'm so sorry," Pete whispered quietly, kneeling down so that he was hovering above Patrick's face. "I didn't want this to happen."

Patrick reached up a shaky hand to weakly stroke Pete's cheek. He gave a smile that turned out as more of a grimace. "I trust you."

Pete kissed Patrick's lips first, gently licking away the blood, then continued down his jaw, nipping as lightly as he could, trying to make this seem like something it _wasn't_. Like it was normal, just foreplay, just love. But as Pete neared Patrick's neck, felt the pulse of his carotid, sluggish and slow, beneath his lips, felt Patrick tilt his neck, giving him more access, he knew even Patrick was aware of the gravity of the situation.

Patrick gripped Pete's free hand with his own, silently urging him on. Pete mouthed softly at Patrick's neck before he bit down, going soft at first and then harder as his fangs punctured the skin and blood flowed into his mouth.

Painful wasn't the best way to describe it. At first, it felt like a love nip, as Patrick imagined it would if he and Pete had ever gone this far when Pete was vampire and he was human, and the pressure increased as Pete went deeper, intensifying the stabbing pain that hummed in the back of Patrick's mind.

A scream caught in Patrick's throat, dying away as the rest of the world grew dim. Vaguely he registered Pete pulling away, looking at him through troubled eyes, and then the pain in his chest disappeared to be replaced with a burning like liquid fire coursing through his veins.

He tried to say Pete's name, choke out anything, but everything stayed caught in his throat like a bad case of drymouth. He wanted to scream, to jump in a lake to douse the fire that had engulfed his body, but he was mulishly immobile.

"You'll be okay," were the last words Patrick heard as a blurry vision of Pete hovered above him. "Three days."

And then he was falling, falling into a deep, crushing darkness.

----

"_I'm so sorry… I didn't want this to happen."_

"_I'll die. I _am_ dying."_

"Pete!"

With a start, Pete jumped up from the armchair he'd been sitting on. He rushed over to the couch where before Patrick had been asleep—if you could call it that—for three days.

Kneeling down on the floor beside the couch, Pete looked at Patrick with worried eyes. "'Trick," he breathed. "You—are you doing okay?"

Patrick gave him a wan smile. "I've been better." He avoided the look in Pete's eyes because he knew. From the moment he opened his eyes, he could tell he was changed. He felt the fangs, felt the burning at the back of his throat. Everything in the room was clearer, sharper, louder.

"You know that… that you need to drink from me now." Pete's tone of voice made the question a statement. Patrick just nodded. Pete motioned for him to scoot over, and when Patrick did he took the place where Patrick had been sitting moments before.

Now—and with a tint of dark humor mixed in—thanks to this, Patrick could tell when Pete was aroused, and the thought made him want to blush. Had Pete been able to smell it on his as strong as this before?

"Later," Patrick whispered when Pete moved a fraction of an inch in to kiss him, the barely-perceptible movement prolonged in Patrick's keener eyes.

Pete's expression hardened in what could have been anger or sadness or both, but he nodded. Bending down, Pete carefully bit into the tender skin of his wrist, right where the pulse would have been, allowing the blood to well up and trickle down.

Almost immediately Patrick latched onto Pete's arm, locked there and shaking as the blood flowed into his mouth, working like a fire extinguisher to diminish the heart in the back of his throat.

Pete bit back the urge to pull Patrick off and kiss him. From experience he knew that after today their next time would be a thousand times better than any previous ones.

For Patrick, drinking this blood was like giving him the breath of life. Another chance at living. How could he have ever thought that this was disgusting? It was more satisfying than a drink of water after a long, hot walk. Better than food after being starved for a week.

"Patrick." Pete gently pried him away, tilting his head upwards.

For one horrifying second, he didn't recognize Patrick's face. Before, he'd been a shy, angelic boy who'd seemed no raunchier than a kitten. Now there was a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes, the part to his lips that was the telltale sign of a vampire scenting the air.

The blood smeared on his lips, glinting ominously in the dim lighting of the living room, brought into the open the fact that this was all _real_. It wasn't a dream. Patrick was stuck like this forever.

Pete shook his head. What was he thinking? This was Patrick Stump, the person he'd fallen in love with. Having just turned him didn't matter. If anything, it should have made things easier.

"How do you feel now?" he asked, apprehension evident in the tense way he held himself.

Patrick nodded slowly, still pondering over whether this… _relief_ he was feeling was because he was awake and okay, or because of something else that dwelled inside of him. Something that was excited by the taste of smell of blood and that held a primitive presence. "I'm… okay."

He blinked a few times, swallowed, and turned to face Pete. "Thanks," he whispered, looping his arms around Pete's neck. He parted his lips and breathed deeply, closing his eyes at Pete's musky scent that was a mix of old cologne and a tiny whiff of the decaying smell all vampires acquired after years and years.

"You smell gorgeous, Pete." Patrick smirked. "Wanna do it?"

Pete's eyes widened. "Not—right now?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "No, later. _Of course_ now, asshole. You saved my life. Don't I owe you at least a little something?" He moved to sit on Pete's lap, dipping his tongue into Pete's ear as he whispered, "Maybe if you fucked me I'd feel a little more comfortable."

"It's—it'll be a lot different than when you were human," Pete explained, forcing back a groan.

"So?" Patrick moved away and pushed Pete down onto the couch, straddling his hips.

"I'm alive because of you, Pete." He had a flashback to the fight with Nate, how he'd been held as a bargaining chip. He could still feel the deathly coldness of Nate's hands, feel the brush of fangs against his jugular and then the rush of blinding, excruciating pain as Nate ripped into his chest. Shuddering, Patrick stroked down Pete's face, bending down to kiss him.

Pete placed his hands on Patrick's hips. Looking into Patrick's eyes, Pete was sure that if he'd been human his breath would've caught in his throat.

Patrick's skin, already creamy and flawless when he was human, glowed with eternal beauty. Despite the fangs poking from the corners of his mouth from arousal, he still held onto the aura of innocence.

Pete brought a finger up to touch Patrick's lips, brushing the pad of his index finger against a fang. Patrick's mouth opened and his tongue darted out to brush against Pete's finger.

"I love you," Pete whispered. "And being a vampire doesn't change that."

"I know." Patrick reached down to unbutton Pete's pants.

Pete laughed, lifting his hips up to help Patrick to pull down his pants. "I can tell," he said, reaching for the hem of his shirt to pull it off.

"I never noticed you changed my shirt," Patrick commented before slipping it off.

"I had to. Your blood is too tempting."

Patrick rolled his eyes as he pushed down his pants and kicked them off. "Shut up," he said, rolling down his boxers.

Pete smiled. "That's too hard to do when you're around," he replied, lifting his hips now to pull down his boxers, groaning when his half-hard cock brushed Patrick's.

"Shit, yeah. So good." Patrick groaned.

"Told you," Pete muttered, gripping Patrick's hips. "This is gonna be the best sex of your life, Patrick." It felt weird to be gripping Patrick's hips now; before they'd been fleshy like all humans and softer with the small bit of weight Patrick carried around the middle.

The skin of a vampire, however, was firmer, like canvas pulled tight over a drum. He felt a momentary flash of longing for Patrick's old body that stopped as soon as Patrick aligned his hips with Pete's and ground down.

Pete arched his back. "Fuck, _yes_."

Patrick smiled, leaning down to kiss Pete's neck, nipping softly. "It feels good to be the vampire here," he muttered against Pete's cold skin. Pete laughed, stroking down Patrick's back.

"Two of us," he said as he reached between them to nudge Patrick's hips up. "Gonna come if you keep doing that," he clarified when he saw the look of confusion on Patrick's face.

Patrick straightened up, biting his full lower lip that had been turned kiss-red. The light from the setting sun reflected off his pale skin, seemingly illuminating it from within. Patrick reached down and took the base of Pete's cock in his hand, positioning himself over it.

Pete's eyes widened. "Patrick, maybe you shouldn't—" He was cut off when Patrick pushed himself onto Pete's cock in one fluid motion, not stopping until Pete was in to the hilt.

Pete grunted in the back of his throat. "_Jesus_."

Gripping Pete's coarse, black hair in his hand, Patrick tipped back his head to lick and nip at the column of his throat. As he tugged Pete's head back down to kiss him, open and dirty, he slowly began to move.

"It doesn't hurt now," Patrick whispered against Pete's cheek. "Probably later, but now it feels so goddamn good."

"Mmm." Pete was only capable of vague, animalistic noises as he attacked Patrick's mouth, tongues sliding over each other, Patrick's hips undulating against Pete's, occasionally swaying from side to side, causing Patrick's pleased, breathy moans each time the tip of Pete's cock brushed against his prostate.

"Care to—ahh—touch me?" Patrick breathed, splaying his palms on Pete's tanned chest, devilish glint in his eye. Pete's eyes traveled down, watching Patrick's cock bob with every thrust, blood dark and leaking.

"Insistent bastard," Pete muttered, propping himself up on an elbow to reach over and squeeze the base of Patrick's cock, stroking roughly to the tip, using his thumb to spread pre-come down the shaft.

Patrick laughed, thighs shaking now as his orgasm loomed closer and closer. As his steady movements began to falter, Pete moved his hand from Patrick's cock and supported himself with both elbows as he lifted his hips up to meet every downward thrust.

Patrick tossed back his head, moaning loudly and snaking a hand down to jerk himself off, finish what Pete didn't. Pete bit his lip as he watched him, whispered, "Come on, Patrick… fuck, just like that. _Come for me._" Patrick flipped sweaty ginger hair out of his face as he stroked once, twice, and came wetly between them, Pete's name branded on his tongue.

Pete groaned loudly, grunting as he spilled deep into Patrick. His limbs felt useless, like jelly, as Patrick slumped on top of him. "Best sex ever," Patrick murmured against Pete's skin.

Pete just laughed. "I told you."

Patrick lifted his face up, grinning stupidly. "I said I'd keep my promise."

"What—" Pete began, but stopped, remembering what Patrick had said before he had to be turned again. Pete laughed again, moving forward to kiss Patrick's smile. "Of course."

----

"How's it feel?" Pete asked again the next morning.

Patrick shrugged but smiled, showing off his early-morning fangs. "Thirsty."

Pete chuckled, draping his arm around Patrick's neck. "I've got a cure for that, then." He led them into the kitchen and temporarily detached himself from Patrick to push aside the glasses to grab the blood from its secret compartment.

Pulling out a clear pitcher and two glasses, he set it all down on the kitchen table before pouring two half-glasses of blood. He handed one to Patrick before taking his. He waited for Patrick to take the first sip before he did, draining his glass in one gulp.

"I can't believe I'm drinking this," Patrick commented, furrowing his eyebrows as he held up the glass for inspection.

"I think you can," Pete replied, noticing that the glass was completely empty save for the residue left at the bottom and on the sides. "It's weird, at first. But you get used to it really fast. You're just lucky you've got me."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Way to flatter yourself."

Pete rolled his eyes and got serious. "You know these first few months won't be easy, right? Staying away from humans is necessary. In your mind, you've got two compartments: human, and vampire. Most of the time you're mainly human. But whenever there's danger or food, the vampire side becomes dominant. Being around as many people as you do at work, and in such close quarters, won't end well."

"Like… I really wouldn't try to kill them." Patrick's eyes widened in such a way that he resembled a small child. "There's no way."

Pete nodded. "Yeah, you would if you had the chance. Patrick, you're not _just_ a human anymore. You need to realize that. You're new and your stamina and self-control are low."

"So what, I just quit? Or say I've got a case of the vampire and call off for a few months?"

"More like a year," Pete replied, unfazed.

Patrick opened his mouth, thought better of it, and shut it. He shook his head, looking down at his hands. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing that this wasn't true. Why had he wanted this in the first place? Pete never bothered to warn him just how severe this would be before the fight.

Pete looked at Patrick; head tucked down, chin on his chest, and somehow knew exactly what he was thinking. "I warned you," he said lowly. Patrick's head shot up in surprise.

"No—" Patrick started.

"Yes," Pete replied firmly, cutting him off. "I told you how dangerous this was. How much you'd hate it because when you're human you don't realize all the freedoms you've got. I wasn't ever going to turn you, but to save you… I had to. It killed me, Patrick. It honestly did, but I did it so you'd _live_."

"This is living?" Patrick asked quietly, looking at the glass and then into Pete's eyes. "Everyone's allowed to have their second thoughts, Pete. What am I going to do now? If I can't call off, then I have to quit. Buzzwire is my life. I love working there."

Pete pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow. "You said you hated it."

"They were going to promote me," Patrick muttered. "I was a few stories away from being given a shot at the field reporter position that Spencer had just left."

"Spencer Smith is quitting?" Pete asked in disbelief. "Wow, I liked his stories."

Patrick shrugged. "So did everyone else. It was my chance to _shine_, Pete. I can't believe this."

"You wanted this," Pete said, narrowing his eyes. "Patrick, this isn't my fault."

A glimmer of anger appeared in Patrick's eyes. "So it's suddenly my fault for nearly dying?"

"I'm saying it's your fault for fucking getting in the way."

"You let me come," Patrick said dangerously. "You could've said no, but you didn't, Pete. You knew what would happen if worse came to worse, and it did."

Pete ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be able to scream and throw things. He wanted to believe that this was all Patrick's fault, because it was easier than admitting that he had nearly killed the one person who meant the most to him in the world.

Instead he sighed and let his shoulders slouch in defeat. He picked up the glasses and rinsed them off in the sink, putting the pitcher away in its hiding place. Pete wanted to avoid looking at Patrick for as long as possible, but after a few minutes he heard Patrick curse under his breath.

"No you don't," Patrick said, voice close. Pete spun around in surprise, forgetting that Patrick's steps would be quieter now. A semblance of a smile graced Patrick's lips before he put two of his fingers under Pete's chin, tilting his face upward and mirroring what Pete had done what seemed like years ago.

"I know what you're doing," Patrick continued. "You tried this before. You can't ignore me or the problems right in front of you. You're a horrible liar, Pete." He cracked a strained smile.

Pete started to shake his head but stopped. Patrick was right. "I was just so worried," he rasped. "I knew from the beginning that knowing you would be too dangerous, but I ignored my instincts and let my heart take over."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "You're such a sap." He grabbed Pete's hand, looking deep into the depths of his eyes. "I'm here forever, and so are you. So why not make the best of eternity?"

Pete began to say something but was cut off by Patrick's lips pressing insistently against his. Pete moved his arms to wrap around Patrick's neck while Patrick snaked his around Pete's waist.

They broke apart, Patrick chuckling. "So not used to not breathing."

"You get used to it," Pete said.

Patrick smiled lopsidedly. "You may have said that before."

"Get used to it," Pete reiterated, pulling Patrick flush against his body. "Let's go see how Bill's doing."

----

Pete knocked on Bill's door while Patrick peered into the living room window curiously. They were both anxious to see how Bill was doing without Adam; when he'd last called Pete the day after the fight Pete said he'd mentioned something about Gabe staying at his place for awhile, but just how permanent that had become Pete wanted to see.

After a few seconds the door opened and a gust of heat rushed out to mingle with the chilly winter air. Bill poked his head out, curly brown hair falling into his face. A smile stretched his lips when he saw both Pete and Patrick there.

"Hey," he said brightly, opening the door wider and stepping back to let them in. He nodded to Patrick as he passed. "Glad to see you're alive."

Patrick smiled languidly at his joke. "Glad to see you're doing better."

Bill's smile, if possible, got bigger. "If Gabe hadn't been here I don't know how I'd be, to be honest."

"So he's still here?" Pete asked, appearing from the living room. He placed his hand on Patrick's shoulder, rubbing it. Patrick cast him a warm look and for once Bill didn't scowl or predict imminent doom. Pete took it as a win on his part.

Bill nodded, crossing his arms over his skinny chest. He surveyed Pete's face, chewing on his lower lip for a minute or two before he spoke. "You care that he's here, don't you?"

"What? No, no, I don't. I just…" Pete spluttered.

"Cut the crap, Pete," Bill said, rolling his eyes. "You're doing what I did when you brought Patrick over. I've known you too long."

Patrick snickered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets when Pete glared at him, though the gesture was half-hearted. "Okay, so what? I guess caring for friends isn't cool anymore," Pete huffed.

Bill led them into the living room, patting Pete on the back as he went to sit in the chair by the window, moving over to allow Patrick space to sit down as well. "I think you'll get over it."

Just then Gabe appeared from the kitchen, bottle of water in his hand. He blinked in surprise when he saw Pete and Patrick in the room and quickly regained his composure as he set the bottle down on the coffee table.

"Hey Pete," he said in greeting, nodding toward Patrick. "You too."

Patrick scoffed but remained quiet. Pete looked at Gabe, saying, "So you and Bill are fucking."

Bill's eyes widened at his statement. Gabe and Patrick both laughed. "Not quite," Gabe said, looking to Bill. The vampire walked over, slinking an arm around Gabe's thin waist. "We promised not to do that until… until Bill turns me."

"Wait. What?" Pete asked, dumbfounded. He turned to Bill, raising his eyebrows in shock. "You're turning him? Don't you worry about what'll happen when other vampires realize their messenger is one of them? I can't imagine any of them being too happy."

Gabe cleared his throat nervously. "Actually, I'm done with that. After Adam was killed"—Bill visibly winced and Gabe brushed the back of his hand across his cheek in a comforting gesture—"I realized how stupid it is to be doing this. Risking my life, you know. Bill's there for me. I don't need any more excitement in my life."

Patrick made a cute "aww"-ing sound, bubbly saying, "That's so good. I'm really glad for you guys."

Bill smiled, lips pulled back enough to show most of his teeth. "Thanks, man."

Pete just shook his head. "God, this is too much of daytime soap opera for me." Patrick smacked him on the shoulder, glaring at him.

"And you guys look too much alike," Pete continued, feigning distaste. "Didn't know incest was back in fashion." This time Patrick gaped at him.

Pete rolled his eyes. "Come on, 'Trick. I was kidding. I think it's, uh… okay that they're together."

Gabe chuckled. "I don't think I can believe that just yet, Pete."

Bill sat down on the loveseat, Gabe sitting next to him. Their thighs touched and their intertwined hands were on Gabe's lap. Patrick raised an eyebrow, remembering back to when Adam was still alive and Bill sat like this with him.

Bill caught his look and smiled sadly, shaking his head. "I miss him terribly, Patrick. Don't think I've gotten over him already."

"How was he before I woke up?" Patrick whispered into Pete's ear.

"Terrible," Pete replied, worry lines etching into his skin, crow's feet forever fanning out from his crinkled eyes. "I saw him the day after and he couldn't stop crying. He's just putting up a brave front for us. I can tell he's still not okay. Gabe's the only thing keeping him hinged right now."

"And Nate said love was useless." Patrick laughed, pecking Pete quickly on the cheek before placing his hand there, brushing away strands of dark hair.

Pete turned to Patrick, mirroring the hand on his cheek. "Everything he said was, Patrick. He tried to take you from me, but he didn't get the chance to."

"He never will," Patrick replied. "You're stuck with me forever."

Pete smiled, placing his hand on Patrick's thigh, rubbing his thumb over the denim. "That sounds like a pretty good promise," he whispered, leaning in to nuzzle Patrick's cheek, inhaling the new, vampire-y scent. "Forever."


End file.
